Child Of Snow
by SoHo Chic
Summary: Snow White retelling. (Beware:VERY different from original!!) To escape her stepmother & betrothed marriage, Cel runs away, discovering her secret heritage in the process.
1. Forward READ THIS!

Forward (READ THIS!!)  
  
Yeah, I usually skip over the forwards, too. Well, this is IMPORTANT, so READ IT!  
After little success with writing original stories, I've turned to an old favorite--original retellings of old fairytales. I've always loved reading then (my favorite book in the world IS Ella Enchanted, after all) and now have decided to write them.  
I first did a retelling of the Arachne story. After I watched "Snow White: Fairest of Them All" on "The Wonderful World of Disney," though, I KNEW I had to do a Snow White retelling.  
Why?  
Because I've always disliked the Snow White story. Well, not always, but it certainly was never my favorite fairy tale. And with all the fairy tale retellings out there, Snow White holds less than 5% of those. I mean, I've read a million Cinderella retellings, but no Snow White ones!!  
So, I decided to write one. I had 2 storylines, but the other one didn't work. So, I'm going with this one.  
Keep an open mind, because this story gets VERY different from the original. VERY DIFFERENT.  
That's pretty much all I have to say.  
Now go and read it. 


	2. Part One

.. CHILD OF SNOW ..  
  
Chapter One  
  
  
"Can he do that?"  
  
"I don't know. He did, didn't he?" Cel said bitterly. With one hand she twisted her black hair,   
the other one clutched a handful of fresh snow.  
Laich was silent for a while, kicking at a few rocks nearby and rocking the log they sat on. Then he looked down at his blue hands and sighed.  
  
"Makes sense, though. After all, Silvea is going to be queen, not you. O' course they'd betrothe her to Prince Zachiriah."  
Cel glared at him and released the handful of snow and her wavy hair.  
  
"Well, they didn't have to move her betrothal to ME! What if I don't WANT to marry Count Harold's son?? I don't even know his name! I'm only seven!"  
  
"It's not THAT bad."  
  
"Yes it is! I don't want to get married! I'm NEVER getting married! Ever! They can't make me!" Cel cried defiantly. "If Mama were alive, SHE wouldn't make me marry him!"  
  
"You haven't even met him yet," reminded Laich. Cel threw a snowball at him.  
  
"You're supposed to be on MY side!"  
  
"I am," Laich said, shifting uncomfortably. "Just...give him a chance. I'll bet he's not as bad as you think."  
  
"Really! How much do you wanna bet on it?"  
  
"Come on, Cel! Remember when you first met me? You thought I was blue demon."  
She looked sideways at him and gritted her teeth at this new angle of attack. Yes, when they first met on her second birthday, she'd run away screaming that he was a blue devil, but that was a long time ago! And Laich was different. Yes, he had blue skin covered with a thin layer of ice and ice instead of hair, and yes, he could turn things to snow, but Laich was--  
  
"Arrgh. Fine. Alright. You win," Cel said grudgingly. "But he gets one chance! That's it!" she added when Laich started to grin.  
  
"I'm sure it'll turn out fine. Tell me all about it when you get back," he said, throwing an arm around her.  
  
"What do you mean, 'when I get back'?" she demanded.  
  
"Well, you're going to go meet him, aren't you?"  
  
"Uh.....no. Papa hasn't said anything about that yet. Besides, when Silvea was betrothed to him, SHE never left and met him."  
  
"But SHE was bethrothed at birth. You're six!"  
  
"Seven!" she cried indignantly. "I'm SEVEN."  
  
"Well, I'm eight, so it doesn't matter, 'cause you're still younger than me."  
  
"Stuck-up!"  
  
"I am not!"  
  
"Yes you ARE. You're always like, 'oh, I can turn things into snow'. Big deal!"  
His blue eyes narrowed and he threw a snowball at her. Cel ducked quickly, and the snowball passed over her head harmlessly. Reaching down, she proceeded to attack him with a new barrage of snowballs. She was wearing leather gloves, so her snowballs were harder than his.  
One hit him square in the face, knocking him to the ground with a loud "oof!"  
Cel laughed gleefully and danced around in the snow.  
  
"Ha! Sir Snowmaster isn't so powerful now, is he?"  
  
Laich leapt up with perfect grace and continued the playful fight. Now that he'd been knocked to the ground, the rules were clear: he was allowed to use his powers. Grinning wickedly, he took a large breath and released a powerful stream of snow at her. Screeching and laughing at the same time, Cel batted away the snow.  
  
In her private dressing room, Queen Minerva stared into the large mirror hanging on the east wall. It was so large that the rectangular mirror covered the entire wall. The mirror was rimmed with cold and silver, giving it an old look.  
  
Queen Minerva stared distastefully at the scene on the mirror. Cel was playing again with that dreadful snow sprite. What was his name? Laich. A snow sprite of the Slivitt province, by what the name indicated. Throwing snowballs and letting her hair loose, the insolent girl was again. Queen Minerva turned and waved her arm at the mirror.  
  
"Enough," she commanded, and the image disappeared, leaving in its place the ordinary reflection of Queen Minerva. Actually, the reflection was anything BUT ordinary, for Queen Minerva was the most beautiful woman in the twelve lands. It was only the mirror had reverted back into an ordinary state.  
  
Queen Minerva paced in the room, her mind spinning a million schemes a second. After all these years, she'd finally convinced Victor to move the betrothal to Cel so that Silvea could be betrothed to Prince Zachiriah of Telren. Would Cel be able to change his mind?  
  
Not likely, since she'd been placing the new potions into his nightly drink. Lately, King Victor of Fenel had felt...ah...testy with his adopted daughter Cel. Still, he did have a strong bond with her and had loved her mother very much. Queen Minerva promised to strengthen the potion.  
She turned and stared straight into the mirror. Silky dark brown hair was placed in a fancy series of braids throughout her crown. The black eyes framed in long dark lashes were enough to win her any man, despite her thirty years of age. Though her skin was smooth and soft, it was still somewhat dark-colored, a bad trait she'd inherited from her father. She frowned at this and twirled her regal gown.  
  
"Oh, come Minerva. You know you're the loveliest there has ever been," she murmered to herself. Still, she felt uneasy remembering Cel playing in the snow. Cel was lovelier than Silvea had been had been at her age. Her skin was white as ivory, complimented by the raven black hair that was even darker than her father's. One day, Cel's beauty might even rival her own.  
  
"Mirror!" she cried angrily. "Who is the fairest in the twelve lands? Who holds beauty unsurpassed in her hands? In the future and in the past, whose beauty will forever last?"  
Minerva smiled. Nobody could rhyme like Queen Minerva of Fenel! It was a nice new spell that she'd thought up at the moment, and she eagerly awaited the mirror to answer.  
  
"The future can be changed and is hard to perceive," Queen Minerva's reflection replied. "Who is destined to become the fairest may yet face change. It is unknown."  
  
She scowled at the mirror. Obviously, the spell had been too complicated. She'd treaded into the one region that she was not supposed to--asking for the future. Sighing, she resorted to the easier spell.  
  
"Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"  
  
This time her reflection smiled and curtsied.  
  
"Of all the maidens, young and old, you are the fairest of them all."  
Satisfied, Queen Minerva returned to her royal duties. She was still the fairest! She'd deal with Cel later. For now, Queen Minerva attacked a nearby page with renewed confidence.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
  
"Please, Papa? Just for a few days! On some royal business, you know. Please? I HAVE to meet him!"  
  
King Victor looked out the window, fighting down the burning impatience. Why couldn't Cel just leave him alone?? She was always whining, and here she was, back with another request. Clearly, he'd spoiled her too much. He almost slapped her but thought better of it.  
  
"No, Cel. Count Harold is too busy to just come here because you want him to. Now go," he said dismissively, waving her toward the door.  
  
Cel bit her lip and studied her adoptive father carefully. She could usually tell if she was pushing him too far. Seeing the deep crease between his brows, Cel knew that he'd probably explode if she asked again. Against her better sense, she asked again anyway.  
  
"I could go there. It wouldn't be hard, really! I could just--"  
  
"I SAID NO!" King Victor roared, standing from his seat and raising his hand threateningly. Cel stared at the raised hand in shock before bowing her head timidly.  
  
"Yes, Papa." She quickly scurried out of the room and to her own chambers.  
  
King Victor sat down heavily. Quickly, he shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. What was wrong with him lately? He'd almost hit Cel! Groaning, he rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.  
  
"Having trouble with Cel, love?" a voice whispered into his right ear.  
  
"Uh, yes Minerva. She's just....don't worry about her."  
Queen Minerva handed him the wine goblet, which he drank quickly. She smiled and hugged him. Obviously, he hadn't noticed the extra potions in the wine. That was a good sign. They'd start affecting his thoughts quickly.  
  
"Mmmm. Well, we all know how Cel is. She'll learn her place, with time. Now, Silvea..."  
King Victor smiled as Queen Minerva sat in the nearby couch. Gods above, she was beautiful! Much more beautiful than Elyce had ever been.  
  
"Silvea will receive the honor she deserves," he reassured her. "She is, after all, the crown princess. It is imperative that she marry Prince Zachiriah. That way, Roge will not attack our borders, what with our two countries uniting. Cel will learn that it is all for the best. After all, offering her, the adopted princess, for betrothal would have been insulting."  
  
Queen Minerva batted her eyelashes and grinned. The potions were working already. Now, with Silvea's position secure, they could move on to other matters.  
  
"Now, about Cel. Don't you worry. I'll make sure she's taken care of..."  
  
  
  
  
"Prince Zachiriah is so handsome!" Silvea squealed happily. Cel rolled her eyes as her older half sister combed her hair. Silvea noticed the look and sobered quickly.   
  
"Cel, I'm sorry that you have to marry Count Harold's son. What's his name? Oh, yes--Maximillian. That sounds nice."  
  
Cel's expression turned sour. It would be just like optimistic Silvea to think that way. She watched as her hair was twisted into a chignon. Silvea fastened it with a golden clip and beamed.  
  
"Well, say something!"  
  
Cel stared into the vanity mirror. Strange that even though she was adopted, Cel and Silvea looked so alike. Both had black hair, pale skin, and similar face shapes. Despite the fact that Cel was seven and Silvea was thirteen, they knew each other extremely well.  
  
"I don't have anything to say."  
  
Silvea giggled and hugged her younger sister.  
  
"No, not the hairstyle, silly! I meant to ask if you have anything to say about Maximillian."  
  
"Yes, I know. That's what I meant, too."  
  
Silvea turned and sat on the green fainting couch, playing with the gold fringe.  
  
"I'm going to meet Prince Zachiriah in a month! I'm sure that he's nice and strong. Brave, too. Oh, we're going to have a grand wedding where all the nobles in the twelve lands will come to celebrate! Oh, wait. When Zachiriah and I marry, then Fenel and Telren will be one country, right? Then there's only eleven lands. That's better. Less lands, less trouble. Too bad--"  
  
Cel stopped listening to her babbling sister. At the moment, she felt like she was suffocating in the overwarm room. Her entire body screamed for cold, crip, fresh air. Besides, she needed to talk to Laich about the way Papa had been acting lately. He'd be the only one to understand.  
  
"Silvea, could you talk to somebody else? I need to take a walk."  
  
Silvea grinned and stood.  
  
"Oh, alright. You always did like the cold air. I'll just go talk to Ariella."  
Rolling her eyes again, Cel headed down the back hallway. She usually didn? use it since it passed right by her stepmother? second set of rooms, but it was the quickest way out of the castle.  
  
Right, left, another right turn and then she was facing a wall with a portrait of King Cronus the first. Running her fingers along the stones in the wall, Cel felt the loose one. She pushed it until the stone disappeared into the wall, leaving a small hole in its place. With a huge groan, the wall started moving aside like a door. Grinning in relief that nobody had noticed her yet, Cel passed through.  
  
  
  
  
  
Her secret rooms. They were a set of abondoned old rooms that nobody used any more and had forgotten about. Queen Minerva had discovered them when she first moved into the castle. In her other rooms, across from Victor?, servants constantly knocked. She had no privacy at all! Using her mirror, she? chanced upon these three secret rooms in one of the many secret passageways.  
They were still covered in cobwebs in case anybody happened to pass by, though it wasn? likely. Here she mixed her potions and kept her books. Since there were no windows, she? had to rely on candles. The candles were everywhere in her rooms, throwing shadows and light over the tables that filled the room. The rooms were at the very back wall, the passageway leading to the castle moat. Oftentimes, wind would almost knock the rooms over. It was an annoying problem, but worth the privacy.  
  
Queen Minerva filled the cauldron with the Gorgon's Root. It was the essential element in most of her potions, and she was extremely lucky that it grew readily in the murky moat waters. Now she looked again to the potion book lying open on a table.  
  
"I know I saw the potion before," she murmured, flipping through the pages. "Where is it? Potion for love, potion for eternal sleep, transmogrification potion, potion for fame....Damn them all, where is that blasted potion?"  
  
She threw the book aside and drew a new volume titled PSYCHIC. In an almost eerie manner, the book opened to exactly the page she was searching for. Queen Minerva grinned as she held a melting candle close to the yellowing pages.  
  
"Well, if I can't sway his thoughts, at least I'll be able to read them! That way I'll know what he's planning....and stop him if I must."  
  
Pausing for a moment, she considered using a potion to read everyone's thoughts. Looking down on the text, though, she knew that such a potion would require powerful magic, magic that she did not possess. Having come to the dark arts at a late age, she was not strong or experienced enough.   
  
*Someday, though* she promised herself. *I grow more powerful every year. Soon I'll be so strong none can stop me.*  
  
Surpressing a giggle, Queen Minerva went into an adjoining room to gather the necessary ingredients. That was when she heard the noise. There was soft splashing just outside this wall, she was sure of it! Panicking, she raced into the secret hallway and walked to the edge, where a unnoticeable door was cut in the stone. It opened before her with a flick of her wrist, and Queen Minerva leaned her head over to stare down at the moat.  
  
Swimming expertly toward the other side was none other than Cel, and from that very door, too! How had she learned about this exit??  
  
As Cel reached the other bank and climbed on, Queen Minerva glared in hate. If Cel knew about her secret rooms, what else did she know? Queen Minerva would have to protect her secret at all costs. She had to keep Cel silent, prevent her from speaking about anything that she knew.  
Turning on her heel, Queen Minerva closed the stone door and walked up toward her rooms and her magic mirror.  
  
  
Chapter Three  
  
  
"It's worth a try," Laich said one last time in his most persuasive voice. Cel shivered in her wet clothes as another winter wind blew past. Sitting next to Laich did NOT help since more cold air seemed to pour from him.  
  
"Well, I don't know. It might work," Cel said doubtfully. She glanced at Laich and added quickly, "I'll try it. You're probably right."  
  
Laich forced himself to be satisfied with that as an answer. He noticed that Cel was visibly shaking now and scooted away.  
  
"Better?"  
  
She smiled gratefully as she pulled the wet cloak closer.  
  
"Thanks. Gods above, that water is cold! I don't know why I used that exit. Stupid! It's winter now. I haven't used it in years!"  
  
"I'm surprised that the water wasn't frozen already," Laich commented.  
  
"Well, winter IS almost over, in case you haven't noticed."  
  
Of course he'd noticed. The coming spring caused a dull ache in his head. The warmth would be coming too soon. Soon it would be time for his people to leave the lowlands and head again for his home in the Slivitt province, far to the north. His wings of ice shook at the thought. The long migration!  
  
"When are you leaving?" Cel asked when he didn't say anything. Laich started, surprised that she'd guessed his thoughts so easily.  
  
"I don't know yet. This week, maybe. By the end of the month, we'll all be gone. Spring will be here."  
  
Cel sighed. Spring already! Winters in the lowlands always were much too short for her, it being her favorite season.  
  
"They're already planning Silvea's wedding. When she's sixteen--the summertime," Cel said distastefully. "A blue wedding dress! It's a Telrenaise thing. Papa said I'm not going to meet Maximillian until probably a week before our wedding."  
  
"So you can't run away," Laich reasoned. Her eyes widened at the thought. Running away?  
  
"That's a good idea! Where would I go? Oh, I know! I could go with you to the Slivitt Mountains!"  
  
"There's plenty of abondoned cabins up there. You know, that loggers used to live in," Laich added, caught up in the idea.  
  
"And you could get your parents to carry me! Oh, flying! That's GOT to be fun!"  
  
"Not possible. I doubt they could lift you, and I don't think if they could they would."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Well, you're....you're..." he trailed off, not able to find a kind way to say it.  
  
"Oh."  
  
They sat still for a while, the reality of the situation sinking in. Another blast of chilly air bit through Cel's cloak and she hugged her knees and a feeble effort to keep warm.  
  
"I went to the Slivitt Mountains once," Cel managed through chattering teeth. "But I didn't see you anywhere. I was three, I think."  
  
"Of course you didn't find us! Only we know where it is. Otherwise those stupid bounty hunters your father sent would find us so-easy."  
  
He glared at her and pointed to a deep purple line on his forearm. Cel tentatively touched it and shivered at how cold he was.  
  
"That was a bounty hunter. One year they almost found us."  
Cel bit her lip as she traced the long scar. It would never heal properly. She knew from the way blue blood still oozed through the scabs in several places.  
  
"I have a scar," she said to brighten the moment. She pointed to a pink scratch on her wrist. Laich kicked out his foot.  
  
"I've got one on my leg--see? Not as bad as my arm. Got caught when we flew."  
  
Smiling, Cel removed one leather boot and showed him her ankle, encircled a thin brown line.  
  
"I tripped over...something. I can't remember. Next thing I know, blood!"  
  
"Mine is worse."  
  
Sticking out her tongue, Cel laced her boot on. Laich sniffed and stood. Brushing off snow, Cel stood as well.  
  
"I need to go. I've been out twice today, so they're probably gonna punish me. 'Might not see you 'til next week," Cel warned. Laich frowned.  
  
"'Might be gone by then. So, just in case, let's say good-bye now."  
  
Laich took a deep breath and then blew into his palm. Slowly, a small piece of ice materialized in his hand. The ice gradually took on the shape of a dancing girl. Sheepishly, Laich handed it to Cel.  
  
"Good-bye gift. Better than last year's?"  
  
Cel grinned and pulled a few strands of her black hair loose, handing them to him.  
"Maybe. Maybe not. See you next year! And be careful 'cause I might grow taller!"  
  
"No you won't. You always say that!"  
  
"Bye, Laich. 'Let winter's luck stay fresh 'til summer.'"  
  
"Where'd you hear that one?"  
  
"Silvea. Well, are you going to leave or not?" Cel said pointedly, hand on her hip.  
  
"Fi-ne. Since you want me to go so much, I'll just go. So long, Daughter of the Sun."  
  
"G'bye, Son of Snow."  
  
With a powerful leap, Laich was airborne. His crystal wings beat the air and he was gone, leaving behind him a trail of fresh snow and chilly winter air.  
  
"Showoff," Cel muttered and coughed. Instantly, a sharp pain stung her throat and her lungs. Cursing under her breath, Cel trudged back toward the castle.  
  
  
  
  
Queen Minerva watched the door like a cat watched a mouse hole. Finally, the brass knob turned and Cel walked in, coughing and sneezing. She threw her coat on the floor and kicked off her boots. Only then did she see Queen Minerva sitting on the edge of her bed.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Queen Minerva raised a perfectly arched eyebrow and toyed with a pillow.  
  
"When was it that you discovered the South exit, the one that drops directly into the moat?" she asked coldly, setting the pillow back into its original position. Cel inhaled sharply and her pale blue eyes widened slightly.  
  
"Wh-what are you talking about?"  
  
"Don't you lie to me!" Queen Minerva screeched, rising from the bed. "I saw you today! Going off to see that horrid snow sprite again!"  
  
"You know about Laich?" Cel asked without thinking. Then, realizing that she had just acknowledged that what Queen Minerva had said was true, Cel covered her mouth.  
  
"So then, you know about my experimentation rooms, don't you? Well, you are not to tell anyone about them. Nobody! You can't tell anyone what you know!"  
  
"I don't want to tell anyone," Cel muttered.   
  
Queen Minerva took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm down. Then, she grinned maliciously.  
  
"Do you know about the order that your father placed, several years ago when your mother died? He said that he would pay three thousand fendes to anyone who could capture a snow sprite and bring it to him alive."  
  
"You wouldn't! Not Laich!" cried Cel.  
  
"I will if you tell anyone about my secret rooms. If you EVER go there again, I will tell your father all about these little meetings with your precious snow sprite friend."  
  
"Fine. I wasn't going to tell anyone anyway."  
  
"I never want you to see him again," Queen Minerva added. "It's no way for a princess to be acting, running around with a creature like that."  
  
"But-"  
  
"If you do," Queen Minerva said sharply, "you know what will happen to him. So, do we have an understanding? No more meetings, and you are not to tell a soul about my secret rooms. Do that, and I will see to it that Laich lives a long life."  
  
Cel's mouth dropped open. Never see Laich again? Her best friend, one of the only friends she'd ever had, never see him again?  
  
She exhaled, and it felt like all the life flowed out of her.  
  
"Alright. I won't tell anyone."  
  
Smiling triumphantly, Queen Minerva walked out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her.  
As she drew a small leather pouch out of her pocket, her smile widened. Quickly she sprinkled the white powder over the doorway and whispered an incantation.  
  
"I know you wouldn't tell anyone about this, dear, but I have to make sure."  
As she walked down the hall, she left a trail of white powder that slowly disappeared, invisible. 


	3. Part Two

Chapter four~  
  
Four years later  
  
"And the Princess Silvea Blanche Chastity of the Phalogn line in the mighty kingdom of Fendel, daughter of Queen Minerva Serenity Ahgigi and King Victor Phalogn is present here today in noble cause of duty and love."  
  
Cel stood frozen, unable to move as she watched her beloved sister walk slowly toward the priest. There she was, wearing a spledid blue Telrenaise wedding gown made of fine silk and covered in exquisite jewels and embroidery. Her curly black locks and stunningly beautiful fair face were hidden beneath the silver veil. The day seemed almost unreal, as if Cel would wake up soon and discover the entire long, formal ceremony was but a dream.  
  
Feeling the pinch of her white corset, however, Cel knew that it was too true. The day of Silvea's wedding had finally come, and the only friend left in her life was leaving her. The itchy gown was pressed against her skin in the heat of the summer day.  
  
"Marriage is an important step in life," the priest continued when Silvea reached Prince Zachiriah's side. Cel immediately stopped listening and instead focused on the sunlight across the stone floor of the temple. Would Silvea miss her? She said she would, but what if she forgot about her? She'd be too busy with all her new royal duties; what if she didn't have enough time to visit?  
  
Specks of dust swirled around in the sunlight. Cel focused on one of them, watching as it danced in the air. Once Silvea left, they'd focus on her next. Maximillian had come to the wedding--next they'd introduce her to him as soon as they could. She was only eleven, but in five years she'd be walking down the aisle for her own wedding.  
  
Now that Silvea was marrying Prince Zachiriah, there were the new deals. For instance, once King Victor died, Queen Minerva would give up her crown and Fendel would become part of Telren. The fendes money system would cease to exist in favor of the tels money system. Trade deals with the kingdom of Cordor would be terminated. These were the reasons of Silvea's marriage, the most important event in the history of Fendel.  
  
Cel's marriage would be purely to stop feuds among the landlords and nobles. By marrying Maxmillian, she would be a sign to show that the family of Count Harold of Vezeld was in favor with the monarchy. It would be a large wedding, of course, but not even half the size of Silvea's.  
  
Now her eyes wandered around the decorated temple. The huge windows were thrown open to allow light into the large area. Fresh coats of paint had been added to the stone walls, turning them white and blue. Everything was white and blue, Telren's national colors. It made the temple seem even more everdecorated and stifling than usual. Alternating drapes of white and blue hung from the windows, white and blue rugs covered the wooden floors, even the altar was draped in white and blue. Of course, the priests wore their traditional robes of gold and white, but with added embroidery of blue. All the people present, mostly nobles of the Fendel court and close family, were wearing white with blue embroidery. Silvea's wedding gown was the exact shade of blue as everything else: a sheer, pale color that allowed light to pass through. In fact, the gown looked as if it was made of the same fabric as the curtains...  
  
A movement forced Cel to pay attention to the wedding scene once more. Silvea and Prince Zachiriah shared a quick kiss before turning to the attending nobles. Slowly, they walked down the aisle together, looking like the best-suited couple in the world. Prince Zachiriah looked like the powerful king he was destined to become, his steps long and powerful. With her veil lifted, all could see Silvea's famous beauty and her queenly dignity.  
  
Taking her cue from Adriella across the room, Cel lifted her skirts and followed the married pair out of the temple.  
  
  
  
  
"This is Maximillian of Veseld. Maximillian, meet her majesty Princess Icelynai Bianca of the Phalogn line, adopted daughtor of King Victor," Count Harold announced.  
  
Maximillian wasn't bad-looking, Cel had to admit. He was three years older than her and a head taller, but she would grow soon. He was heavily muscled with the common hairstyle of the Fendel nobles, his light brown hair swept in curls around his tanned face, giving him a rather angelic look.  
  
"Your beauty prevails, Princess Icelynai," Maximillian said politely, bending over to kiss her hand. His voice was quiet and gentle. Cel sniffed gently. He smelled nice, like apricots. Maybe this betrothal thing wouldn't be so bad after all. She returned his greeting with a timid smile.  
  
"I'm afraid Cel hasn't spoken a word for the past four years. We're not quite sure why," Queen Minerva said after a sip of wine. Cel glared at her fiercely.  
  
"Would you care to join me in a dance?" Maximillian asked. Quickly, Cel shook her head and sat on a plush seat near the wall.  
  
"She doesn't like to dance either," Queen Minerva added. "Don't mind her. She's rather invisible around here. Just sits in the gardens all day, or stares out of her window. Barely eats, barely moves even."  
  
"In the past year, she's been even more remote. See, Cel and Silvea have always been very close. Silvea always took care of Cel, especially since she stopped talking. Cel doesn't have any other friends. Now that Silvea's moving away and getting married, though, we're not quite sure what will happen to her," King Victor commented.  
  
"Mmmm. Well, no need to worry any more about that. My Maximillian would take marvelous care of her, isn't that right?" Count Harold boomed.  
  
"Of course," Maxmillian said, his voice now stronger and louder. "Why, my hunting dogs would be more than enough to entertain her. Maybe she might even watch my hunting party in the winter!"  
Cel stood abruptly and gasped. Dogs? Winter? She quivered in excitement. To be allowed back into the snow! To dance around and play in the cold winter air!  
  
Quickly she grasped Maximillian's arm and beamed up at him, nodding her head vigorously. Count Harold chuckled.  
  
"You see? My son knows how to please a lady."  
  
Queen Minerva made a face and snapped her fingers for more wine.  
  
"Eh. She shouldn't be out in the snow. The winter air's not good with her. Especially in her bad health," Queen Minerva said.  
  
"Ah, yes," said King Victor. "She's sickly, Cel is. Strange that she didn't used to be this sick. Cel used to be the healthiest one of use  
all.....That is, until about four years ago. Then, in the springtime she always came around with colds and pnemonia. In the summer, she always  
had a fever and delusions. We don't allow her to go outside very often any more. Wouldn't want her to catch a disease."  
  
Cel panicked. Here they were again, forbidding her to go outdoors! She turned to Maximillian and pleaded with him through her eyes. He had to help her!  
  
"Very true. We wouldn't want the princess to die," Maximillian agreed.  
  
What? What happened to her knight in shining armour?  
  
At once, she pushed away his arm and turned abruptly, walking quickly away from him. Instantly, Maximillian reached out for her and  
straightened his tunic.  
  
"But, of course, the princess's happiness should be considered. If she wishes it, perhaps that is what is best for her," he said quickly.  
  
Queen Minerva and King Victor shared a look.  
  
"Cel is eleven years old. She doesn't know what's best for her," Queen Minerva snapped. King Victor nodded and stood.  
  
"Quite right. Now, let's end this silly debate and dance! A waltz please!" he called to the performing musicians. Instantly, a lively  
tune filled the air and the talking nobles paired off. Taking Queen Minerva's arm, they led the first dance.  
  
Maximillian extended his elbow toward Cel, smiling confidently.  
  
"I know you don't like to dance, Princess Icelynai, but might you make an exception this time? For me?"  
  
She glared at him. Dance? No. She would dance with him if he couldconvince her parents to allow her to finally go outdoors in the winter, but only then. If he couldn't? He was a coward, then.  
She spun on her heel and headed toward the royal gardens. Cel needed to be alone and think.  
  
  
  
The stone bench beneath her felt cool as she stared up at the lemon tree. The rippling of the fountain nearby was soothing, and the gentle hum of voices far away combined with escaping traces of music was relaxing. Every day since Laich had left, she'd come to this bench to  
think.  
  
It had been four years since she'd experience the joys of wintertime. Since the threat from her stepmother, Queen Minerva had forbidden Cel to leave the castle or go outdoors when there was snow. Always the excuse had been that Cel would grow ill. Ill? Cel had never been ill before, not until the day she tried to sneak out. Ah, then the pnemonia struck. After that, everytime she tried to venture outdoors in the winter, disease after disease bombarded her.  
  
Now, though, Maximillian seemed like a savior to her. What had he said? 'Maybe she might even watch my hunting party in the winter!' Oh, to be outside and breathe cold air! To feel the snowflakes land in her hair and on her skin! Still, he was too quick to follow her parents' orders. Most likely, he wouldn't allow her to go outdoors if they told him she couldn't, so he wasn't an option.  
  
Silvea had left her. Gone. To Telren with Prince Zachiriah. It was like a pain in her side. After Cel lost her voice, Silvea was the only one who would speak to her. After Laich left, Silvea was the only friend she had. Now she had none.  
  
As she watched a wind sweep up leaves and throw them over the castle wall, a new thought struck her. Maybe she could run away! Cel stood excitedly. Telren was Fendel's northwestern neighbor. It wasn't that far away. All she would have to do would be to follow the Phanzel Road to Meyretz City where she could ride along with the annual traders' caravan across the Teynal Mountains into Telren. From there, the caravan traveled directly to Bleye, the capital city of Telren.  
Oh, then she could live with Silvea! She could pass as one of Silvea's ladies-in-waiting! It would solve all of her problems. Cel would  
finally be away from her awful stepmother, live with Silvea again, she wouldn't have to worry about the troubles attached to being a royal, even being an adopted royal, and she would finally be able to experience true winter again. Perfect.  
  
The only problem was that the annual caravan didn't travel until late spring next year. So, Cel would have to wait. During the year, she  
would plan out the details of her trip. Now, her only problem was how to deal with Maximillian.  
Cel frowned and sat down on the edge of the fountain. She needed to think further.  
  
  
  
Chapter Five~  
  
Cel tossed in her bed all night, unable to sleep, always thinking of her escape. Everyone was indoors, celebrating the wedding. Nobody would notice if she escaped now!! Still, she would have trouble sneaking past the guards, and how was she to reach the kitchen unnoticed? She needed supplies for the long road.   
  
*Besides,* she scolded herself, *you said you'd leave NEXT year!*  
  
Yet no matter how she tried to turn her mind away from it, she kept thinking about escaping. This night seemed too perfect a chance to pass up. Finally, Cel climbed out of bed, decided. She would change her plans and escape tonight. Once she reached Meyretz City, she could work as a maid or other servant until springtime so that nobody could find her, should anyone come looking.  
Cel threw on a plain robe and raced down the hallway. Fortunately, no one noticed. Taking the servants' stairs to the lower levels, she reached the storage rooms without any alarm. The large iron doors stood before her, staring menacingly back, shutting her out.  
  
"I know, I know already!" a servant boy yelled over his shoulder. Muttering, he opened the doors and darted inside. Moments later her reappeared with a large sack over his shoulder, hurrying down the narrow corridor.   
  
The careless and hurried boy had left the doors open. Almost giddily, Cel slipped inside. It was a huge room filled with jars, barrels, and sacks. She spotted one sack with a large hole in the bottom. Grinning, she tore the along edges of the sacks. Removing her robe, she slipped the sack over her plain white nightgown instead. It was so large that it reached to the ground.   
  
Cel grabbed cut loafs of bread, two jars of cut vegetables, a jar of wine, and wrapped them in her robe. Now she was ready. Cel slipped out of the storage room as quickly as she slid in. A servant boy stared back at her. Cel pushed a finger to her lips and pleaded with her eyes.  
"What are you doing here, majesty?" the servant boy whispered. Cel shook her head and raced down the corridor. She dimly remembered a servants' exit out the side of the castle. She heard no shouting behind her, so she was sure that the boy hadn't alerted anyone yet. Ducking into a corner, she threw her weight against the wall and it opened for her with a loud creak.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Cel knew that she was outside and allowed herself a smile. She noted the position of the guards and watched them carefully. The two closest guards were deep in conversation. Cel raced to the outside wall and pressed herself against it, hiding herself in its shadows. She heard a note of alarm from the guards and cursed herself for being spotted. There was no use in sneaking out now. Cel ran openly out to the drawbridge and flung herself into the moat.  
  
Swimming to the bottom, she held herself there by pulling on to the water plants. With the nighttime and the murky water, even if a guard dived in after her, he would never see her, much less find her. So she waited for what seemed to be hours. When she finally ran out of air, she swam along the bottom as far as she could before swimming to the top.  
  
After inhaling deeply, she saw that she had swam quite far from her diving spot. Therefore, no one noticed her emerge from the water. Grinning, she climged out on the other bank and ran for the woods close by. She quickly climbed up a tree and waited.   
  
She watched a guard dive into the water after her, more guards arrive at the scene. After she was sure that no one had noticed her escape into the forest, she climbed down and removed her slippers, adding it to her other provisions. Then she stole through the forest with the stars as her guide. Even as she grew tired, Cel knew that she couldn't travel by day time or else she would be recognized. Still, she was too tired to travel further this evening, so she stopped at a small stream, drank deeply, and smeared a little mud on her face and in her hair. It would help with her disguise.  
  
Then climbing up a rather inviting tree, she curled into its branches and fell asleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
Queen Minerva was furious the next morning when a maid informed her that Cel was missing. She immediately retreated to her mirror and glared fiercely at it.  
  
"Mirror Mirror here before me, show me where Cel might be," she chanted. Her reflection smiled and vanished, in its place was the picture of a road weaving through the forest. Queen Minerva laughed. "Simple girl, running away? Oh, to go to Silvea, now are we? Along the Phanzel Road. Ha! Did you think I would not find you??"  
  
Queen Minerva quickly ordered all the soldiers to ride along the Phanzel road and retrieve Cel before nightfall. For all her confidence, she was frightened that Cel might not be found before nightfall. The silencing spell she had cast on Cel only worked while Cel was within a hundred yards of the castle. Once Cel passed a hundred yards, she was free to speak. Cel was the only one in the land who knew anything of Queen Minerva's magic doings. If she spoke...well, then Queen Minerva would have to face King Victor. She shuddered.  
  
She ordered the servant men to travel along with the guards for a higher chance of finding Cel.  
  
  
  
  
Silvea read the letter in alarm. She waved the tired messager away, dismissing him for much-needed rest.  
  
"Ah, what has my sister gotten herself into this time?" She shook her head. "And now I won't be there to look after her." Zachiriah placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  
  
"I'm sure they will find her. If not, at least she will come here. She will be fine," he said warmly. Silvea smiled up at him.  
  
"Oh, I know, but I can't help worrying. What if she gets lost and can't find her way here? I always was the worrier--Cel was the one who did things without thinking about them first. I suppose this is another one of her impulses." She looked sadly around the Telrenaise throne room. It seemed so foreign, every inch of it. One day away and she was already homesick. Silvea ran a hand across the windowsil. If Cel were here, she would have decorated it with twigs. Blue and white ones, too. It was such a peculiar habit, painting twigs and decorating windows with them. Everyone at court thought it was hideous, but Silvea had secretly liked them.  
  
"You miss her," Zachiriah said quietly. Silvea forced a tired smile.  
  
"You're so observant. Yes, I miss her. It's strange, though. Cel was always strange. She's always been bright, extremely intelligent for her age, but there's this extremely childlike quality about her, sensitive, innocent and vulnerable. It made me want to protect her." Silvea laughed and traced the painting on the wall. "I always protected her. She was more like my child than like my sister..."  
  
She shook her head to clear her thoughts.  
  
"What am I doing? I should be answering Mother's message! You there! Send for a new messanger and a fresh horse!"  
  
"We could always send back her messenger," Zachiriah pointed out. Silvea shook her head.  
  
"Let him have his rest. Ah, here is a new messenger," she said as a new man walked into the room. "Messenger! Ride to Fendel! Deliver this message to the Queen Minerva, who is at the Aza Castle: 'I will alert you if Cel reaches Telren. We shall have everyone living along the border alerted immediately. Lovingly, your daughter Silvea.' Now go. A horse is waiting for you in the stables."  
The man bowed and left swiftly. Zachiriah frowned.  
  
"How will we alert everyone along the border?" he wondered aloud. Silvea looked at him in surprise.  
  
"Why, we send messengers to every village along it, of course! That is how we handle problems in Fendel. Pray tell, how are things like this handled in Telren?"  
  
He shook his head and smiled.  
  
"You have much to learn, my lovely princess," he said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it. Silvea blushed.  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Six~  
  
The unmistakable sound of horses woke Cel from her sleep. Peering through the thick branches, she could see the castle guards riding down the Phanzel Road. She was immediately grateful for her previous insight of not having traveled down the path. She grinned at the fact that they had not brought along hunting dogs, but she sobered quickly. If they did not find her today, they would most likely bring hunting dogs for their second search. After they rode past, she quickly climbed down from the tree and dropped lightly into the stream. Cel swiftly covered herself in mud, leaving no place untouched. Climbing out of the water, she noticed a nearby berry bush, ripe from the summer. After sampling a few and decided that she did not like their taste, she added the berries to the mud. For good measure, she attached leaves and twigs as well. Wandering along the stream, she picked up odd assortments of fragrant flowers and added it to her collection. By the time she arrived back at the same tree, she thoroughly reeked. Smiling at her good work, she treated herself to a quick meal by the stream.  
  
*Even the hunting dogs won't be able to sniff me out now* Cel thought happily to herself as she chewed her bread. Looking at her mud-caked feet, another thought struck her--what if they followed her footsteps?? Looking around, she saw her muddy footprints all along the banks of the stream and curse her stupidity.  
  
Cel jumped into the shallow stream and walked in it downriver. The cool water felt soothing and she longed to bathe in it. Still, she sensibly did not and continued to walk. She stopped only once to eat and walked all day long. She prayed that the stream would lead her to Meyretz City, though Cel began to grow doubtful as it ran increasingly further from Phanzel road. At last, nightfall arrived. Though commpletely weary now, she still dared not rest for the night. Instead, she sat down in the middle of the stream and rested briefly. As she did, the mud and debris on her skin washed away. Watching it float down the river, she made no movement to stand. She saw the situation in a new light and instead leaned back into the water, washing off all the collected mud. As she emerged, she knew that she was very safe for now. In the stream, no dog could follow her scent and no man could track her footsteps. Yet she knew that this trick would only work for a short time, as they would soon realize that she was following the stream rather than the road. So, Cel racked her mind for a new plan.  
  
As she thought, she ran her fingers over the smooth, flat rocks on which she sat. Absentmindedly, she picked up a large one and ran over its smooth edges. As she held the cold stone to her face, she closed her eyes and willed an idea to appear. Try as she might, her mind wandered to other things, such as Silvea. Cel recalled a strange painting at the wedding temple, a Telrenaise painting. It featured ancient Telrenaise women wearing strange shoes atop blocks of wood. She opened her eyes abruptly and stared at the stone. With her free hand, she tore off the edge of her nightgown and tied the stone to the bottom of her slipper. She did the same to the other, with a different slipper and beamed at her work. Now she ambled out of the river and tried her new slippers. At first she constantly fell, but soon worked to gain her balance. Walking with the new slippers, she looked over her shoulder at her footprints. They faintly resembled those of a deers, only thicker and much deeper. She would have laughed if she had a voice to laugh with. Thus Cel walked through the forest, moving away from the stream and wearing her new slippers, knowing that no one would know to follow her by her footprints for they were not hers. At last dawn arrived and she climbed up a giant oak to sleep through the day, hiding in its generous leaves.  
  
  
  
  
"Mirror Mirror before me, show me where Cel might be," Queen Minerva screamed when the men reported to her that Cel was not on the Phanzel Road. This time, the mirror showed her a small creek instead of the Phanzel Road. Queen Minerva fumed and knocked over a vase.  
  
"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT STREAM THAT IS?? How do I tell it apart from all the other possible MILLION little ones running all over the forest??" She glared and the mirror showed her the length of the creek, how it ended in a large pond beside a meadow filled with huts. Queen Minerva clutched the edges of her chair. "Oh...that little imbecile is cleverer than I thought. Walking in the river...of COURSE it's the perfect plan! No footprints left behind whatsoever. Well, tomorrow they'll search the river and they'll find her! I'll make her sorry she was ever born!"  
  
The image on the mirror faded away to show only Queen Minerva sitting in a highly adorned chair. She drummed her fingers on the glass table and looked toward the king's nightly goblet.  
  
"I don't need HIM meddling around, it will just make things harder for me. So, tonight the king shall sleep very well indeed. And when he wakes up, he will want to punish Cel for his horrid nightmares." Queen Minerva stood and admired herself in the mirror. "Ah, Minerva dear, you are too perfect."  
  
  
  
  
Cel slept soundly through the day and walked half the following night, following the stars northward. Finally she arrived to the point in the forest where the trees grew extremely thick overhead and the branches interlocked. They blocked the sky and the moonlight. She shivered as a cold wind blew by.  
  
*Wait!* Cel thought suddenly. *It's summer! And I don't remember ever hearing about this forest being so large...*  
  
"Don't move and you don't get hurt," a voice said behind her. A cold blade was pressed against the back of her neck. Cel threw up her hands in surrender.  
  
"Why are you here?" asked a woman who stepped out from behind a tree. The woman was short and sturdy, wearing skintight dark green attire that showed her rippling muscles.  
  
Cel shrugged. She couldn't speak, so how was she to answer the question? A person behind her grabbed her arms and skillfully tied them behind her back. The blade was removed.  
  
"Well, she won't run now," a man said, walking around to face her, obviously the one who had bound her. "Why are you in these parts of the wood, all alone?"  
  
"By the gods, ya two, she's just a child! She's obviously lost, and here you are treatin' her like some spy," a new voice piped. The voice belonged to a middle aged woman who descended down from the tree with experienced ease. She smiled warmly at Cel. "Don't mind Millen and Jewellee, they young and suspicious o' eveyone. I'm Ranita, an' I know an innocent youngster when I see one."  
  
"Well, she COULD be a spy," grumbled Millen. "After all, those strange slippers look suspicious enough." Ranita frowned.  
  
"Well, I admit they ARE a bit different. Care to explain them, dear? Oh, an' I didn't quite get your name."  
  
Cel stared down at the slippers and kicked them off to avoid further interrogation. One stone hit Millen in the shin and he yelped. Then, glaring at her, he slapped Cel across the face. In reflex, Cel opened her mouth to cry out, but of course no sound came.  
  
"Millen!" hissed Ranita. "Control yaself!" Carefully, she eyed Cel in a calculating gaze. At once, realization dawned on her face. "Why, the younglin' is mute! That would explain some!"  
Laughing, Ranita cut Cel's bond and clapsed the girl's arm, leading her through the forest.  
"Millen and Jewellee are lookouts--they is supposed to look out for trespassers. Now, dear, I know you weren't trespassin'. Were ya lost?" she asked. Cel glanced over her shoulder and saw Millen and Jewellee climb up different trees and disappear. Looking back to Ranita, she nodded.  
"Ah, so ya WERE lost! Well, whatcha doing in the wood in the first place? Gatherin' food? No, I didn't think so. Didja leave the road an' then get lost? Ah, no. Ya don't look like that sort either. Hmmm...were you travelin' through with a group then ya got separated? No either? I thinkin' ya not gonna tell me what really happened, hmm? Now, I not sayin' ya LYING to me or somethin', but I'm sure ya got reasons for not tellin' me, right?"  
  
Cel nodded vigorously, and Ranita grinned.  
  
"Ah, poor thing. I'm guessin' you want a place to stay for a spell, hmm? How'd ya like it if...if ya was to stay with me, ol' Ranita?" Ranita asked seriously. Cel's eyes widened and she smiled. Ranita chuckled and gestured to the tree. "Well, here is where I live. Now, don't go pullin' that disappointed face on ol' Ranita--ya haven't even seen it yet!"  
  
So saying, Ranita climbed up the tree in the blink of an eye. Cel followed less quickly, slipping oftentimes, but still managing to climb it. It was a plane tree, with a thick truck and thick branches that extended horizontally to interlock with the branches of the surrounding trees, which were very similar. When she finally stuck her head above the branches, she almost let go in shock. Here in the saftey of the trees, there was an entire village! Small homes were built in every tree, above the layer of leaves and branches, and because of the way the branches interlocked, one could walk from home to home. Even better was the fact that the secret village could not be seen from the ground because of the unique, thick layer of leaves and branches beneath.  
  
"Ingenious, isn't it?" Ranita said proudly. "We build it in the fashion of the Elvish. O' course, none of us ever met any elves, but the folktales have it that some of the ancient elves used to build their cities like this, hidden in forests where nobody could ever find 'em. So, when we ran away, we decided to build up here, like that so that the King and his merry soldiers couldn't catch us." Cel looked at her sharply. Ranita grinned crookedly. "We're thieves, all of us. An' here we can't talk loud, so it's a good thing ya mute! Now, here, into my home!"  
  
It was a small, one-room home build out of wood, mud, and stones. The roof was thatched from leaves and twigs. There were two small windows, though they didn't let in light. Inside the room was a small table and stool as well as a tiny mattress against a wall. There was no real floor--the branches that the home was built on made up the floor.   
  
"Now, sorry it's so dark here, but we can't have candles or fire, else the whole forest go up in flames one day a fool messes up. I'll go get you a mattress soon enough. Until then, would ya mind terribly sleepin' on the floor? There's a good lass. Now, we better go see the Council. I'll tell 'em that ya a runaway who's stayin' with us. Now don't go lookin' so alarmed, they won't do anythin' to ya. I just gotta let 'em know so they know to get food for ya too. See, around here, we gather food every day. Mushrooms, fruits, and the like. Now, what name do ya want me to go report?"  
  
Cel shrugged. It didn't matter what name they called her. She had no idea how long she was going to stay with Ranita, but for now she would be safe. Cel would leave as soon as it grew dangerous again, so the time of stay was unknown. It really didn't matter what they chose to call her.   
  
"Ya don't care what name people call ya by? Why, what if I was to go callin' ya Whitey, after your pale skin? Yeah, that's pale skin alright, never seen skin as pale as yours. I wager you don't go outdoors often, hmm? I didn't think so. Why, that skin's so pale it almost glows!" Ranita chuckled. "Skin pale as milk, white as snow. Ha! Snow white!"  
  
Cel glanced up sharply at the crude term. An impish look growing across her aging face, Ranita stepped outside, wagging a finger at Cel.  
  
"'Snow White!' Ah, that's what I'll call you then!" she called teasingly. Cel stared after her in shock. Slowly, a smile lit up her face. Perhaps she could make this her new home. Ranita was kind, and she would be safe and well fed. She was living outdoors, and for the first time in a long time, she'd be free of her stepmother. Sending letters at Meyretz City, she'd at least be able to write to Silvea. Nobody here would stop her from visiting Silvea occasionaly either. Yes, Cel thought contently. This place could do well as her new home. 


	4. Part Three

PART THREE:  
  
  
Chapter Seven~  
  
Cel, now known as Snow White, Snowy, or S'White by the village of thieves and runaways, who called themselves the Elven Circle, lived comfortably silent as a member of their community, safe and undetected by Queen Minerva for another four years. She had a knack for finding new soures of water as well as charming the animals, either calming them or keeping them away. On friendly terms with everyone, she was happy in her new home despite the fact that Ranita refused to let her send letters to Silvea. Queen Minerva, at the end of the third year, finally gave up the hunt for Cel, convincing herself that the runaway princess had died, though her magic mirror refused to answer this question. Powers growing stronger every day, Queen Minerva soon overpowered King Victor and was able to bend him to her will. Ruling Fendel through him, everyone suffered under the tyranny of the monarchy.  
  
  
  
  
"Ranita, that dear of yours is a miracle worker. Such a touch with animals," complimented Lada. Cel smiled as she handed the now-calmed squirrel back to Lada. Ranita chuckled.  
  
"Ah, my Snowy is a special one, she is. Sweet as anythin' and cheery all the time. Snowy right makes up for the child I lost." Ranita smiled sadly at the memory. "Like the daughter I couldn't have." Lada nodded knowingly.  
  
"Ranita, d'you want to talk about Tusa? It has been almost fifteen years now. I know nobo--"  
  
"It's alright Lada. I'm fine." Stretching, Ranita waved her arm at Cel. "It's alright, Snowy. Go do whatever it is ya do." Smiling gratefully, Cel scampered off. Watching after her, Ranita's eyes filled with tears before she blinked them away. "If Tusa was still alive, she'd be Snowy's age. I blame meself ev'ryday for Tusa's death."  
  
"It's in the past." Lada said soothingly. "Nobody could make up for Tusa, but seeing you take in a pale stray, raise her up like your own...you look happier now than I've seen you look in the last fifteen years. And I might even say that Snow White, well...that she's as good as a daughter of your own. Growing more beautiful every day, too. A rare beauty, she is, though you'd never expect it."  
  
"What do ya mean, ya'd never expect it?" Ranita asked. Lada flushed.  
  
"I didn't mean any offense. Just a number of things. Like first, when you first took her in, she was a skinny little thing with too long and thin of a face, and with that white skin and black hair, why it just made her look near death. Now, I don't know how it happened, but half the boys here are following her around in high hopes." Lada looked sideways at Ranita. "After living four years with you, she's acting kind of like you now. The way you toss your hair when it's in your face, the way you climb trees."  
  
"Still hasn't said a word yet, though. I'm sure she'd have a beautiful voice if she spoke," Ranita mused. Lada glanced at her sharply.  
  
"I thought you said she's mute!"  
  
"Well, I can tell sometimes by the way she acts that she used to be able to talk. I think it's not so much as that she can't talk, but that she doesn't. I don't press her about it, though."  
  
They continued weaving twigs (to make baskets) in silence. Lada's were better, for she had thinner fingers than Ranita's thick peasant hands. Two sheepish boys walked up to them and nudged each other. Sighing, Ranita put down her basket.  
  
"She went that way," Ranita told them, pointing. Relieved, the boys walked that direction, leaving Ranita shaking her head and Lada gaping.  
  
"That many boys asking after her?"  
  
"Yea. I already know what they're going to ask when they start walking my way."  
  
"Does Snow White favor any of them yet?"  
  
"No. Snowy don't pay them any mind. Oh, she's nice enough, but I always see her givin' their gifts away to Zaria's children. Mostly, she avoids 'em."  
  
"My Maritsa and Mirjam are right jealous of Snow White. I hear them grumbling about it all the time." Lada grinned. "Any chance you could send them to my girls? If Snow White doesn't want them, of course."  
  
"I could try. I know Snowy wouldn't mind. Pass the reeds? Thank you dear."  
  
"Ever wonder about her?" Lada asked. Ranita nodded as she leaned over to accept the reeds.  
  
"All the time. I wonder 'bout her parents, her upbringin', why she was in the forest in the first place. I made a few guesses 'bout it, too. Like, for one, I guessin' she is o' noble birth. Sure acts like it."  
  
"What do you mean? I could never imagine Snow White as a selfish noble!" Lada exclaimed. Ranita chuckled.  
  
"No, not like that. I mean the way she walks. Real upright. Head high, back straight. Like a noble."  
  
"Well, I never noticed it."  
  
"That's 'cause you never paid attention to it," Ranita said softly. "'Cause she can't speak, I pay attention to ev'rything Snowy does. 'Course now her walk ain't so noble anymore. Wouldn't be practical in a place like this. An' I could tell she wasn't fakin' it, 'cause she walks real gracefully. Not stiff. I mean, I tried walkin' with my back straight, head high once, and it was as uncomfortable as anythin'. But when Snowy does it, looks natural. Smooth. Elegant, graceful."  
  
"Oh, I noticed that," commented Lada. "She carries herself like a dancer, not a noble."  
  
"More like a mix, I'd say. Also, I guessin' she never had no proper mother b'fore."  
  
"Why do you say that?" Lada asked, surprised. Ranita shrugged and set the finished basket in the pile with the others.  
  
"Well, for one, she sure acts lot like a boy sometimes. Doing boy stuff, ya know. Slingshots, throwin' snowballs, skippin' stones. An' also 'cause she acts real suprised when-evah I try to do some motherly things with her."  
  
"Maybe her mother was distant and she had many older brothers," reasoned Lada. Ranita looked at her sternly.  
  
"Lada, are you TRYING to point out the flaws of my reasonin'? Now, can I continue?"  
  
"Of course, Ranita."  
  
"Thank ya. Now, I know she can write, too. I sees her writin' things in the mud with a stick sometimes. Or markin' on trees." Ranita heaved a sigh as she stood. "The only thing I haven't figured out yet is what she was doin' in this forest in the first place."  
  
"Mmm," Lada agreed.  
  
  
  
  
  
Queen Minerva fumed at her daughter. Silvea stared at her feet, shamefaced. Her three-year-old son Aramys hid behind her skirt. Queen Minerva glared at him.  
  
"Get that boy out of here," she snarled. Silvea gave Aramys a gentle shove toward the door.  
  
"Go to your father, Aramys," Silvea commanded him sharply.  
  
"But mama--"  
  
"He's with the horses, Aramys," Silvea said louder. Aramys stuck out his bottom lip but did as he was told. Silvea closed the door after him.  
  
"Mother," Silvea began. "I can't do anything about it. It's binding and effective."  
  
"Don't you talk to me that way!" Queen Minerva spat. "You're worthless! Worthless!"  
  
"Father is dying, Mother," Silvea continued softly. "He's growing sicker and sicker. When he dies, Fendel will join with Telren at Zachiriah and my coronation. You will no longer be queen. So it was planned at our wedding."  
  
"No!" screeched Queen Minerva. "No, treaties can be broken! Plans can be changed! For every rule there is a loophole!"  
  
"Mother--"  
  
"Hold your tongue! You will talk to the Telrenaise councils. The nobles. You do that and it still might work."  
  
"I have no power, Mother! In Telren only the men hold power!"  
  
"Then get your father-in-law to change it! He is king, is he not? Manipulate the old man!"  
  
"Mother!" gasped Silvea, shocked. Queen Minerva sneered at her.  
  
"See? You are worthless! How do you think I got your father to marry me, the poorest girl of all the noble ladies in Fendel?? I manipulated him, that's how! Men are weak scum that hear only what they wish to hear! It is the only way for a woman to survive, to get what she wants!"  
  
Silvea backed away from her ranting mother, gaping openly.  
  
"So, that's what you did?" whispered Silvea. "You manipulated Father? You...you USED him?"  
  
"And will throw him away like an old rag when I'm finished with him!" cackled Queen Minerva.   
  
"Did you ever...did you even..."  
  
"And now you're wondering about yourself, aren't you, DARLING daughter?? Well, the truth is too harsh for your pretty little ears."  
  
"How...how--how..." Silvea was shocked speechless. Here was a side of her mother that she'd never seen before. For the first time in her life, Silvea realized what her mother truly was.  
  
"Worthless brat," Queen Minerva muttered. "Useless, useless!" Grabbing her by the ear, Queen Minerva, dragged Silvea and threw her out of the room.  
  
"Mo--mother," Silvea stuttered.  
  
"I don't want to see you again unless you've completed my task," Queen Minerva said coldly and slammed the door in Silvea's face. Heaving an exasperated sigh, Queen Minerva threw herself onto the couch in front of her huge magic mirror.  
  
"Oh mirror, what am I supposed to do?" Queen Minerva breathed, more talking to herself than actually the mirror. "I guess the only thing I can do now is keep Victor alive. That's the only way to extend my power."  
  
She reached for the goblet on the tiny table to her right and drained it. She stared at her reflection. Eight years had been kind to her. Though nearing fifty, Queen Minerva was still a vision to behold. The streaks of white in her dark hair actually looked pretty, and her face was as smooth as ever, containing not a single wrinkle. The only other difference the eight years had made was how much more frail she looked, her veins visible on her hands, which were thinner and weaker.  
  
"Mirror Mirror, magic arise, what is it that you advise?"  
  
"You seek to control Fendel as sole ruler, it's true. Then become the King, is what you could do," her reflection answered emotionlessly.   
  
"What I COULD do? No, no, no! That's all wrong!" Clearing her throat, Queen Minerva asked again, "Mirror Mirror with wisdom great, What do I do before it's too late?"  
  
"Perhaps you can convince Telren to change the treaty, but perhaps not. Plot to seek control of the King, you already have. Now carry through and complete the plan," the reflection in the mirror answered. Queen Minerva sat back in her couch and grinned, then broke out laughing..  
  
"Thank you mirror. That is exactly what I will do. I'll finish what I started all those years ago when I first laid eyes on Victor."  
  
Chapter Eight~  
  
Snow White was the first to feel the coming of winter. When the first soft flakes fell from the sky, she was the first to feel them, the first to know. When the earth was white, she was the first to step into it. The winter brought such joy to her face, her eyes brighter than stars and a smile worn eternally on those red lips.  
  
During the wintertimes, the people of the Elven Circle ate their stored foods, dried fruit, nuts, and jerky. No one ventured down from their homes. None except Snow White, who rose early every morning and trekked through the forest, throwing snowballs at random objects and laying down in the fresh snow. Every day she wandered farther from the village, and Ranita should have grown suspicious when she started arriving home after sunset. However, her love for her adopted daughter convinced her otherwise, and Ranita did not think much of Snowy's daily activities until it was too late.  
  
  
  
"Snowy?" Ranita called sleepily. "Snowy, mornin's here. Ya up yet?" She rose groggily and look around the room, expecting to see Snowy eating already, or tidying up the room. Then she glanced at the matress, and saw that it was neat. "Probably already up," she grumbled. Ambling around the room, she grabbed a wooden bowl and filled it with nuts and berries, adding a few mushrooms. Sitting on her messy matress, she ate slowly, still tired. Since Snowy had moved in, the one-room homed had been slightly enlarged, making room for another matress. There was also another window, but it was kept closed by leaves. A large clay pitcher stood in the corner, full of melting snow, which they used for water. Next to it was their clay jar containing their food storage. On the wall opposite the two matresses was a small, low table, with a heaps of leaves as seats.  
  
Poking her head through the hanging reeds that served as a door, she looked 'round at the waking families. Lada's daughter Maritsa was already filling their pitcher with snow, her older sister Mirjam chatting with neighbors. Boys strutted around with their bows, ready for the day's hunting. Among all the sea of brunettes, Ranita could not find Snowy's normally obvious black hair.  
  
"Hann!" Ranita called. "Have you seen my Snowy?" The boy shook his head and walked on. Nervously, Ranita looked around. She spotted Indira, Hann's older sister, and somewhat a friend of Snowy's.  
  
"I haven't seen her, Ranita!" Indira called before Ranita could ask. "Maybe Borsz has, though!"  
  
"Borsz!" she called, as she saw him walking past with his hunting friends. "Borsz, have you seen my Snowy?"  
  
"Snow White?" Borz asked, frowning. "Last time I saw her was...why, last night! She was wandering through the woods again, like she usually does. Why?"  
  
Ranita cursed under her breath. Stepping out of her home, she raced to Lada's home. Rapping on the wood, she waited impatiently. Lada's face emerged, annoyed.  
  
"What is it, Ranita? You know I don't wake this early!"  
  
"It's Snowy. She never came home last night!" Ranita explained anxiously. Lada's expression quickly changed to concerned as she stepped outside.  
  
"Well, maybe she did, and she woke up before you this morning," Lada suggested. Ranita chewed on the inside of her lip.  
  
"Let's see." The two of them stepped off of the branch and landed lightly on the ground. Ranita stared in dismay at the fresh layer of snow.  
  
"Must've snowed during the night," Lada commented.  
  
"So she never came home, 'else her prints'd be ev'rywhere. She never came home."  
  
"Maybe she got lost?" Lada said lamely.  
  
"Y-yea. Maybe she did," Ranita stammered. After all, in the dark, it was easy to get lost, and with the fresh snow, it'd be hard for her to find her way back. She refused to think about the other option, that maybe Snowy had left purposely.  
  
"I'd wait," Lada said swiftly. "S'White's a smart child. She'll find her way home."  
  
"Y-yea." All they could do was wait.  
  
  
  
The only sound in the forest was the thumping of her boots in the snow and the heartbeat in her ears. Her breath formed into clouds before she ran through them. Terror clutched at her as did regret. Cel finally stopped to catch her breath at the base of a fir tree. By now, she was far away from the Elven Circle. Cel felt guilty at not having said good-bye to Ranita before she left, but how could she have explained it? Even she did not know why suddenly she fled that night. It was instinct, an urgent sense of danger and nearing doom in her gut, and Cel had always trusted her instincts.   
  
She didn't even know which way she was running, only that the feeling of dread lessened the more she ran in this direction, toward the mountains, away from the Elven Circle and Phanzel Road. Inhaling sharply, Cel began running again.  
  
Having run all through the night and the evening before that, the last time she'd eaten was in the afternoon. When her stomach complained, she'd scooped the snow into her mouth to ease the sharp pains in her abdomen. The mountains never seemed to loom any closer; they simply decorated the horizon, hanging in the distance. She stared at her feet as she ran, the boots that Borsz and Indira had fashioned for her from deer hide, stitched with tendon. The ice cold bit into her feet, which were wrapped in leaves and the shredded remains of her old woolen stockings. Her attire was the same that all the women of the Elven Circle wore, green leggings with a loose dress over it, the sleeves of the top tight. Her cloak was the same that she arrived with, but by now it was weathered and so worn that it offered little warmth. Like everyone else, Cel's hair was chopped short, long hair a nusaince that they could not afford. The longest strands were braided back and knotted messily. The rest of her hair dangled in her eyes, aggravating her even more.  
  
When she bothered to look up again, the mountains were actually closer. Cel stopped again to catch her breath and glance around. For the last few hours the forest had thinned a bit, meadows and clearings more common, the sun streaming easily through. Now, the forest grew back again, not as thick as before, but the trees were closer together. They were mostly pine, needles poking up through the snow.  
  
She'd intended to continue traveling, but oh, how fatigued she was! Surely a short nap could not hurt? Snuggling beneath one low pine, she curled up and slept, hugging her knees for warmth.  
  
The dreams came for her again, as they always had. Peculiar dreams that started soon after her foster mother had died. Always it was the same thing, yet every time it felt more urgent than the time before. In these nighttime visions she saw nothing but whiteness, all around her. Sometimes there would be flashes of blue. Reaching out, she called but heard no answer. Everything was silent in the dream, as if she were deaf. All of a sudden she would begin to rise, floating up. Soft flurries touched her face, cold yet caressing. Strangely, she felt homesick. Now she began to float forward. Sensing rather than actual seeing the beings beside her, Cel floated faster. She floated until her back began to ache, though from what she did not know. Finally she dropped, down down into more whiteness, landing and feeling nothing. Of a sudden, the silence broke, laughter ringing out around her. It was comforting, yet incomplete. Then, a pale bluish mist wafted up before her. Growing upward until the column of smoke was taller than she, it began to take shape. Loosely it formed the shape of a woman, the edges of the image fuzzy, blending in with the surrounding white. The face of this misty woman was not yet formed when, like all the times before, Cel woke with a shudder.  
  
Relieved to see that not much time had passed, Cel ate more snow and continued her journey, trudging wearily onward. For once, Cel began to ponder her own strength. Ever since she could remember, she'd been athletic, having a stamina that many commented on. Drawn to the courts where the boys played, she used to be able to outrun each and every one of them, not even breathing hard by the time they were heaving on the ground. That was, of course, before the sicknesses struck. Still, Cel was quite proud of herself for having run an entire day without food and hardly any rest. That was an encouraging thought.  
  
  
  
  
Aramys was puzzled. All of a sudden, his mother was spending less time with him. Frowning, his three-year-old brain tried to formulate a cause, but in the end he gave up. Looking up, he brightened as he saw his mother sit down in the same room. Rushing over to her, he tugged on his skirt and grinned up at her.  
  
"Not now, Aramys," Silvea told him tiredly. He frowned, a crease forming the middle of his forhead.  
  
"But mama," he whined. Silvea sighed and pulled him up onto her lap.  
  
"Alright, but just one," she gave in. Aramys clapped his hands in glee.  
  
"Magic Mirror!" he cried. Instantly, Silvea shushd him.  
  
"Shh! No, Aramys, I can't tell you that story. Why don't I tell you about Princess Phidella?" Silvea suggested. When Aramy's lower lip trembled, Silvea hugged him tightly. "Oh, fine. But this is the last time I'll tell it."  
  
Aramys grinned and knew that she didn't REALLY mean that.  
  
"Once upon a time, not too long ago, there was a princess."  
  
"Grandmama!" Aramys said knowingly. Silvea nodded.  
  
"Yes, your grandmama. Princes Minerva Serenity of the Ahgigi line."  
  
"In the land of Morranilith!" Aramys cried excitedly. Silvea chuckled, amused.  
  
"No, in the land of Mornth, which is now part of Fendel. It--"  
  
"It's where all the big bad monsters live!" Aramys cut in. He pretend to swing a sword. "It's dirty and fiery, with demons that will eat you up--GAR! Nobody lives there, and it stinks, and I wanna go there!"  
  
"Maybe one day, as a knight. All the brave knights go there, wanting to slay devils. Some come back. Some don't."  
  
"I'll come back," Aramys said stubbornly. "I'll kill them ALL!"  
  
"Can I continue with the story? I thought you wanted to hear this?" When Aramys closed his mouth, Silvea kissed him and continued. "So, everyone knew that she was beautiful. Not fashionably pale, but truly beautiful. When Prince Victor of Fendel, eldest of the three sons of King Adnan, conquered her country and killed her father, she begged him to spare her. Promising to give him whatever he asked. Well, Prince Victor took one look at her and fell in love."  
  
Silvea paused. There was part of this story that she dared not share, the darker side of it. The real truth of it was, Prince Victor was already married when he met Silvea's mother. He was married to the beautiful Elyce of Canelrie, the kind and shy daughter of a baron. When Prince Victor killed the King of Mornth, Princess Minerva fled to another fortress, where she gathered an army. Somehow, she managed to draw Prince Victor there, and soon had him at her mercy. It was he who begged her to spare his life. Princess Minerva then did the unimaginable--she demanded that he marry her in exchange for his life and her country.  
  
"They married," Silvea said slowly. "It was an uncomfortable marriage for first several years." Ten years later Elyce had died. "But soon Prince Victor gave her his undivided love and attention. He gave her whatever she wished for. What Princess Minerva wanted most, though, was the best mirror in the world."  
  
"The Mirror of Lady Llewellyn," Aramys breathed.  
  
"The Mirror of Lady Lleilanellyn," Silvea corrected. "It was thought to have magic powers, huge and beautiful. Lady Lleilanellyn supposedly came from another world, a terrifying enchantreses she was. Princess Minerva wanted that mirror. Unfortunately, it was said to come from the Mornth lands. Prince Victor sent his brothers there to fetch it. They never returned. After waiting for them for two years, when I was nearly six, and your auntie Icelynai nearing one--"  
  
"Adopted Auntie IthelyNAI!" Aramys cried, emphasizing the last sound.  
  
"Yes, she was adopted, around when I was five. Anyway, Prince Victor your grandpapa, finally set out for Mornth."  
  
"'On a horse of black and armor of gold.' I want gold armor!"  
  
"No, you don't," Silvea scolded, making a face. "He set out on his black horse Maldi, and wore enchanted gold armor, a gift from Princess Minerva, for the Mornth people were magnifacent armorers. Bravely he rode, to his doom, we all thought. In Mornth he fought dragons and pits of tar. And--"  
  
"The Minesmen!" Aramys added. "They're black as night, covered in soot, strong as six oxes."  
  
"Oxen."  
  
"Strong as six oxen. And they carried axes, they could see in the dark, they had four arms each, and they were three men tall! Grandpapa beat whole herds of 'em!"  
  
"So the rumors go," Silvea smiled. "At last he came to Mornth-he, the largest and thickest forest in Mornth. He fought wood-ogres and Spirit Trees, the distant relatives of our pleasant Oakshees. In the middle of Mornth-he was the ruins of Lady Lleilanellyn's tower. Digging through the rubble, he found the mirror shattered. Still, he took the largest piece he could find and brought it back. Oh, Princess Minerva loved that mirror! She ordered it to be framed and hung in her rooms. Nobody knows for sure if the mirror truly is magic, but some of the servants whisper that she can spy with it, or ask for the future. Ol' Welborne, he was convinced until the end of his days that Queen Minerva spoke to it, asking every morning: Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"  
  
"And it always told her that she was!" Aramys finished, satisfied. This was his favorite story because it concerned people he knew. His own grandpapa was a hero! He fought monsters! Leaning against his mother, Aramys closed his eyes and dozed off, dreaming of glory and knighthood.  
  
Chapter Nine~  
  
Intolerable pain shot up her leg with every new step she took.  
  
Oh, sweet gods have mercy! she thought. Hunger was causing the edges of her vision to dim. Three days straight, she'd walked, having neither rested nor ate. In fact, she hadn't eaten since she left the Elven Circle more than a week ago. Cel shook from the cold, though no winds blew. The mountains were much closer now, and Cel almost believed that she might reach them alive. Another coughing fit seized her, and Cel knew that she had to find food and shelter soon. Gazing at the mountains a while, she could see the many caves that pocked its side. Just a little further, she told herself. If she could make it to the mountains before fainting from exhaustion, hunger, or cold, then she would sleep in a warmer place for that night.  
  
All her physial reserves were long gone--Icelynai was moving by sheer will alone. It was her mind that FORCED her legs to continue, her heel to inch forward and strike the ground before her. Heel, toe, heel, toe, left, right, left, right, one step at a time. Breathing had become more than a labor, for it was now a fight. Almost as if something large and heavy sat on her chest, Cel struggled to suck in air. Added to this was the pains in her sides, like serrated knives. Between the knives lay the void, where her stomach had stopped complaining and instead punished her.  
  
At last she could go no further. Her body simply would not permit it. She slumped, like the heap that she was, to the ground, knees hitting first and then the rest of her following. The upper part of her body tipped dangerously forward. Suddenly, Cel was pitched forward, tumbling down, down, down. Sticks and stones hurt her as she rolled, toward the frozen river at the bottom, which the land sloped down to meet.  
  
On instinct, she threw up her hands as she hit the ice. From the momentum that had built up, not to mention her weight, the ice broke through easily. Freezing water swept through her, chilling her instantaneously to the bone. Her mouth opened to scream but instead the water rushed in. Trying to fight to the surface with what little energy she had was impossible. For a few moments, Cel struggled in the water, choking and swallowing liquid by the quarts. At last, with nothing left in her, the thrashing ceased.  
  
All was silent.  
  
  
  
  
Sen was the one who saw the broken ice. It was he who dove into it and pulled the floating body to land. To his lips did she awaken. After finding no pulse, Sen had pushed on her belly, on her chest, then pressed his mouth to hers and blew the breath of life. After several minutes of this, Sen almost dispaired, but at last she spit out water and gulped sweet oxygen.  
  
In his arms he carried the shivering maiden up to higher lands. Trekking through the forest, his wet boots making sloshing sounds, they headed toward the mountains. He moved quickly, half-running. Like a wolf, he moved effortlessly despite the burden he carried. His legs and strides were long.   
  
The land sloped upward and still his speed did not cease. There was no road to follow, but there was no need. Sen knew the mountains and the surrounding forests better than anyone could possibly hope to learn in a lifetime. He could avoid even the smallest scratch of a branch or a snaring of his clothing, almost as if the plants made way for him.  
  
The trees never thinned, but the beneath the snow underfoot was no longer soil, but stone. Black stone, hard and transparent at times, was the color of the ground and the mountain. It was sturdy and had many uses, perfect for caves and mining. While any less experienced person would've slipped, Sen ran smoothly over it, his feet barely touching the ground.  
  
At last they arrived at a tiny cave, more of a hole, really. Sen had to walk sideways into the entrance and duck his head. Instantly, they were plunged into darkness, but that was to be expected. His eyes adjusted immediately. The cave was not as small as it appeared on the outside. Rather, it was enormous, ten men high and nearly thirty across.  
  
"Gaelan!" Sen called, his voice echoing in the large chamber. "Gaelan, come quickly!" A man half a foot shorter than he, broad-shouldered, strong, and burly, hurried forward with torch in hand.  
  
"What ye've gone and done now?" his deep voice sounded. Sen sighed.  
  
"Kistur, where is Gaelan? This is important! I found this fair maiden in the river. She will freeze to death if we don't hurry!" The man frowned. "Please," Sen begged. "You can't just let her die!" At last the Kistur relented.  
  
"Gaelan's not 'ere now, but we'll do the best we can." He tore off his shirt and placed it over the shivering figure in Sen's arms. "I'll fetch cloth."  
  
The two of them raced toward the back of the cave. This large chamber, if looked at closely, had many holes in its sides. The two of them slipped quickly into one. The passageway was narrow and low, like all the others. They traveled this way for a long time, the passage dipping lower and lower, growing quite cold. After some time, the passageway widened. Now there were passageways that branched off this main hallway. Kistur swung into one of them, a small cave which served as a room.  
  
Onto the straw mattress in the center the pale lady was placed. Sen lit candles around the room, while from a trunk Kistur pulled yards of cloth. These they wrapped around the shivering figure. Even in her unconscious state, coughs racked from her being. Underneath her eyelids, eyes roved. From a pouch at his waist Sen drew leaves. These he placed under her nose, willing her wake.  
  
"We need hot water," he told Kistur, who understood instantly. Quickly the man bustled out of the room. Sen rubbed the maiden's arms in vain attempts to warm her. By the time Kistur return with a kettle of boiling water, she still had not awakened. Grunting, Kistur cupped a hand over her mouth and nose. Sen looked at him in alarm.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Me friend taught me. Cut off 'er air, and she wakes. You see?" he exclaimed as her eyes fluttered open. Sen filled an earthen cup with the water and blew across its surface, handing it to her.  
  
"Careful, it's hot," he warned her. Heedless of his warning, she drained the cup. Then she crawled further under the cloth and shivered, teeth chattering. The normally white skin was blue, veins easily visible along her face. She glanced curiously up at them, smiling gratefully.  
  
"What's ye name, lass?" Kistur asked roughly. When she did not answer, Kistur grew angry with her. "Lass, we saved yer life. We deserve an honest answer."  
  
"Kistur, don't," Sen said softly, holding his shoulder. He eyed the girl. From her hollowed cheeks, he could tell that she hadn't eaten in a while. Reaching into the deerskin pouch, he withdrew jerky and handed it to her. "I think you'll be wanting this."  
  
Without a second's hesitation, her hand lashed out and scooped up the dried meat. In the blink of an eye, they were gone. Smiling ruefully, Sen emptied the contents of his pouch onto the mattress. It mostly contained nuts and more jerky. There were even a few tiny slices of bread. These, too, were devoured in seconds. With her eyes she begged for more. Sen sighed.  
  
"Kistur, I'll go fetch more of the jerky from the storage rooms. Could you do your best to find Gaelan?" Without waiting for an answer, Sen left. Kistur glared at the girl. He pointed an accusing finger at her.  
  
"Now ye listen, lass. I'll tell ye now--I lose my temper easy. And I'm not happy with ye. Sen went through a lot of trouble bringin ye up 'ere. Didn't even do the day's hunting. So ye best think up a good story by the next time I ask."  
  
When she didn't answer, Gaelan grew even angrier. Now she was being rude and disrespectful. Curling his fingers into a fist, he pulled the arm back, pretending to strike. When the maiden flinched, he laughed. It was not a laugh of amusement, but menacing and filled with malice, meant to scare and hurt her. Obviously it worked, for she shrank back from him.  
  
Kistur laughed harder, this time in amusement, and turned out of the cave.  
  
  
  
Cel watched him leave with relief and dread. She couldn't speak, so how could she get out of this horrid predicament? Clutching the cloth closer, Cel decided that death wouldn't be too horrible. What was there to live for, anyway?  
  
For now, her stomach was eased a little, and she was warm. That was something, at least. Kistur and Sen. They were uncommon names, but not overly unusual. Sen seemed to be the kinder. He'd saved her, after all, and offered her food. Even his black eyes were smiling, and his voice was calm. Tall and lean, his long black locks were tied at the nape of the neck.  
  
Kistur, on the other hand, had ruddy hair and a shaggy beard that hid the majority of his face. Large blue eyes were his best feature, but there was nothing nice about them. To his deep, loud voice there was a ferocity. If Gaelan was anything like Kistur, then she would be doomed.  
  
A coughing spell clutched her again, but it was shorter than the ones she'd had before. Calling up everything she had in her, Cel stood and poured water from the steaming kettle. With shaking malnutritioned hands she drank the water. The warmth of it traveled down her body, causing her to shake from its warmth. Sometimes she sipped the water, and other times she downed it quickly, but the kettle was empty by the time Sen arrived, basket of food in his arms.  
  
Cel's mouth watered. Food! Sweet and glorious food! It was mostly dried, but food was food, and Cel heartily gorged herself. Sen watched with amusement, but after some time he took the basket from her. Cel waved her arms in protest, mouth still full of food.  
  
"It's best not to eat too much and then kill yourself," he told her reasonably. He looked over her now-damp clothing. "It might be a while until we get you clothing. Unless you don't mind wearing men's clothing."   
  
The latter had been a joke, but when Cel shrugged he frowned. "Honestly, you wouldn't mind wearing men's clothing?" When Cel nodded he laughed. "Well, I supposed to you any dry clothes are good."  
  
"Is this her?" a light voice asked from behind Sen. Quickly Sen gave a tiny repectful bow, then gestured toward Cel. The newcomer was shorter than Sen by only a few inches, taller than Kistur. Unlike Kistur's long shaggy beard, he wore his beard but close to the skin. The beard was white and he was bald. Still, he seemed to be not old. His build was much like Kistur's, heavily muscled everywhere, broad-shouldered and broad-chested. The pale green eyes were small, but wise.  
  
"She's eaten already," Sen commented. Gaelan looked her over.  
  
"Well, she needs it. Hasn't eaten for more than a week, eh?" When Cel nodded, he felt her forhead with a very calloused hand. "No fever," he commented. Then he felt for her pulse. Finding nothing strange, the man placed an ear against Cel's back and ordered her to breathe. "She seems well enough. No peculiar sickness that I can tell. Plenty of sleep and a good diet should be the cure. I hear a loud wheezing in the lungs, but that should be just the common cold."  
  
"Have you spoken with Bazek yet?" Sen asked quietly. The older man shook his head.  
  
"Ye know I haven't." His accent, Cel realized, was much like Kistur's, but more educated. "Though I gather he won't be happy. This is the second day that ye've brought back no game."  
  
"I'll leave at once," Sen told him, and he did. With a new warm cloak around his shoulder and dry boots, Sen whirled 'round and turned out into the passageway. Gaelan watched him leave, then turned his attention back to Cel. To her throat he placed his hand.  
  
"Say something," he instructed her. Cel stared at him. She could not speak! Why, it'd been nearly eight years since she had uttered any word! The man tapped a foot impatiently. "Say 'aye.'"  
  
Swallowing nervously, Cel was did her best. Her mouth opened to form the words. Her throat convulsed. The sound that came out was like a gurgling cough. When the man was startled, Cel tried again, afraid that if she didn't say anything, Gaelan would diagnose her with a strange illness. Again she opened her mouth. The back of her mouth quivered. Her throat vibrated.  
  
"Aye," Cel whispered hoarsely. Then she gasped. "Aye," she repeated. It was a miracle! She was--she was SPEAKING! "I can speak!" Cel hissed. Her voice was rough from disuse, but she was making sounds. She was speaking. Cel wanted to jump for joy, scream to the world. Indeed she did try, but her weak voice what not premit it. Gaelan was suprised as she beamed up at him. He could not figure out why she was so excited.  
  
"Well, yer voice is rather worn out. Most likely from the coughing," he concluded. Cel shook her head.  
  
"No. I haven't spoken in eight years."  
  
"Eight years?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Are ye going to tell me why?"  
  
"Yes," Cel answered, savoring every word. She wanted to talk every moment of every day for the rest of her life. Oh, the joys of speech! "It's simple. I couldn't speak. When I was close to eight, my voice suddenly stopped. The healers tried everything, but it seemed that I was mute."  
  
"Very strange," Gaelan muttered. "Very strange indeed." Then he brightened. "Well, 'tis a good thing for ye. Now ye can tell yer tale to King Basilius. What is yer name, lass?"  
  
Cel paused. If she told them her real name, would they return her to her stepmother? Pondering a while at this, Cel finally decided that it would be safer not to.  
  
"I was called Snow White for the last four years," she answered. It was actually a truthful answer. After all, her full name, Icelynai Bianca, indeed meant 'Snow White.' Perhaps it was a kind twist of faith, or just pure coinincidence that Ranita of the Elven Circle had chosen that exact translation.  
  
Gaelan looked at her closely for a moment, studying her face. Then he nodded, satisfyied that she wasn't lying.  
  
"Have yer tale ready for supper tonigh'. 'Til then, yer free to rest. We've an empty cave down the hall. Let me show it to ye." Cel smiled and followed him timidly. The third home of her life. Kistur's unsaid threat played in her mind. Despite that she was no longer cold, Cel shivered. Maybe luck be kind to her just once more. 


	5. Part Four

PART FOUR:  
  
  
Chapter Ten~  
  
There were six of them. Six of them sat at one end of the huge oak table in a dining hall fit for a dozen of giants. To their right were hundreds of wooden chairs, sturdy and plain. The table itself was long and narrow, worn smooth until it shone, reflecting the circle of torchlight hugging the rock walls. On it lay roasted meat, dried vegetables, ale, and candles. The aroma nearly made the half-starving Cel drool.  
  
The dining hall was an oval cave, the ceiling hundreds of feet above them so that Cel wondered how it was that they were still inside the mountain. The walls of the hall were carved in patterns that seemed to make her feel light-headed. Several such carvings were on the columns that supported the ceiling, two rows of columns neatly laid around the dining table.   
  
At the head of the table sat King Basilius. To his right was Gaelan, to his left, as Cel soon learned, was the fearless Leander. Kistur sat next to Leander, Sen was seated beside Kistur. On the other side of the table, across from Kistur was the extremely handsome Adon. Cel sat at his right side.  
  
"Sen, explain," King Basilius demanded gruffly. He was the same height as Gaelan, with his auburn beard worn long. A rough golden circlet was the only visible symbol that he was a King, as his face was dirty and his hair unwashed. Yet an air of authority came from him, his good posture showing his royalty. In the depths of those light green eyes there was cunning.  
  
Sen stood and bowed deeply. "My king, I was hunting when I happened to cross a frozen river with a floating maiden in its icy depths. I rescued her and brought her here, so that she could receive shelter and healing."  
  
"Did ye hunt today?" King Basilius demanded after a moment of silence.  
  
"Three hares, one small buck, and a pheasant, highness." Sen gestured toward the table. King Basilius grunted, then eyed Cel warily.   
  
"Did ye question her?" he asked, looking her over. His expression was guarded, so Cel had no idea what the king thought of her. She squirmed. Even though she had washed her face free of the mud, her hair was unruly, leaves and twigs tangled in its layers, still damp and dripping at the ends. Most of the foliage was gone now, and she'd replaited sections of her hair, but without a mirror she could not tell if that helped much. Because her own clothes were set to dry, she'd borrowed Sen's clothes. He was much taller than her, but she rolled up the sleeves and the edges of the leather trousers. As far as the shoes went, Gaelan had lended his boots. Now, sitting before the King Basilius, she felt dirty and uncourteous dressed in men's clothing.  
  
"No I did not, highness," Sen admitted, glancing at Cel. "Though I am sure she means us no harm as she--"  
  
"Don't make assumptions, childling!" King Basilius roared, beating the table with a large fist. "That's what started our trouble in the firs' place. Did anyone else question the lass?"  
  
"I did, highness," Gaelan said, standing. He bowed, but not as deeply as Sen had. "Her name is Snow White. Lass's been mute fer the last four years."  
  
"If I may be so bold, highness," Kistur said loudly as he, too, stood and bowed, "I believe that she deserves naught our food nor help. She's a spy. No good has ever come of a Child of the Mines trustin' a sun-dweller." At this he eyed her with suspicion and distrust.  
  
"What proof have ye of this, Kistur?" King Basilius demanded, bushy eyebrows furrowing. Cel felt better at his sense of justice, or at least his honor. Kistur shrugged.  
  
"She's rude. Refuses to talk. Now, isn't that suspicious?" He turned to Adon. "Don't ye agree?"  
  
"Aye," Adon said, rising as well. Now Leander and Cel were the only ones seated. "Never can a Child of the Sun be trusted! Our ancestors have been betrayed enough. We must learn from their mistakes." Adon was as an inch taller than King Basilius, built with the same bulging muscles and broad chest as all the other men, save Sen. Blond locks curled around his face, a neat beard at his chin. Cel had not looked at him closely before, but now she stared at him. He was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. Everything about him was perfectly proportioned and exactly semetrical. The nose on his face was exactly the right size and in the very center of his face, his pale blue opticals spaced correctly apart.   
  
Gaelan sat down, his face unreadable. Kistur and Adon followed suit, leaving Sen standing. Obviously flustered, his fists were clenched before him. King Basilius frowned.  
  
"I suppose that ye wish to speak on her behalf?"  
  
"I do," Sen answered, to which King Basilius sighed. "We have no proof that she is a spy. Please let us hear her story before judging her." Then he took his seat in a graceful manner.  
  
"He speaks wisely," Gaelan said. "Listen to him, for it is not to be said that the Children of the Mine make hasty judgements." To her, he said, "Let us hear your tale, Lady Snow White. Entertain us, and perhaps you may further enjoy our hospitality."  
  
Suddenly, Cel understood Gaelan's importance. Only one position would enable him to give her a command without the king's consent. Gaelan was the king's advisor.  
  
"Your majesty," Cel croaked, attempting to recall every conversation her father had ever had and draw eloquent phrases from them. "I am in your debt. Without the compassion of you and your people, I would certainly be--" she paused, trying to find the right words.  
  
"Oh, out with it already," Kistur grumbled. "No need with the fancy pleasantries. Yer tale."  
  
"My tale," repeated Cel. "I--I was born..." she faltered. How truly could she trust these strangers? Did she dare tell them her name? An image of them dragging her off to the palace crossed her mind.  
  
"Ye see, m' leige!" Kistur burst. "She 'esitates! Surely this is a sign that she is a liar, for why else would she--"  
  
"Silence," King Basilius said dangerously. Instantly Kistur closed his mouth but comforted himself with looking displeased.  
  
"I lied to you before," Cel said suddenly. She glared at Kistur. "My true name is Icelynai-Bianca of the Phalogn line. My mother was Elyce Hermione Dae-Shinta of Canelrie. My father is King Victor Phalogn."  
  
There was a moment of silence following this outburst. Then, Leander spoke for the first time. "'Tis possible."  
  
"She is a liar," Kistur grumbled. "The princess disappeared years ago."  
  
"Exactly," Leander replied coolly. "They never found her. 'Tis very possible that she might be the lost princess." His lavender eyes regarding her. Multi-colored hair--black strands, blond, brown, and red--were slicked back with water from a widow's peak. A smile danced on his lips, above a small beard that only spanned across his chin. Instantly Cel decided that she liked him.  
  
"Nay," Adon declared. "Ye would think a human childling could spin better lies."  
  
"That is unfair, brother," Leander answered. Adon glowered at him.  
  
"I never thought I'd see the day when ye sided with Sen," Adon spat. "Brother, yer no longer right in the mind."  
  
"I only say what I think. She firs' said that her name was Snow White." Leander smiled wryly. "Icelynai-Bianca does mean Snow White, eh lass?" Cel nodded vigorously, provoking a chuckled from Leander. "So, either she had her lie down from the start, which I doubt, or she's plain telling the truth. What say ye, Gaelan?"  
  
"We should test 'er, I say," Gaelan commented. "Lass, who is yer sister?"  
  
"My stepsister is Silvea Blanche Chastity. She's older by about six or seven years. Her favorite drink is lemon water, and her favorite dance is the waltz," Cel added for good measure. With her eyes she dared them to argue. They eyed each other.  
  
"She could've heard that anywhere," Adon said.  
  
"True," Gaelan admitted. "Why should we trust ye?"  
  
"Because I trusted you with my secret," Cel answered. "I ran away when I was eleven, when Silvea married Prince Zachiriah. My stepmother hates me, you see, and I didn't feel like marrying Maximillian of Veseld. I'd intended to run to Telren." She flushed, feeling stupid. "I got lost in the woods, and stumbled across...across a village. These people took me in. I lived there for the last four years."  
  
"And then?" Gaelan prodded.  
  
"Then I ran away from the village. Because...I don't know why I ran away," Cel admitted. "It just didn't feel safe anymore, like maybe Stepmother was close to finding me." Forcing a laugh, Cel remarked, "I know I sound silly."  
  
"'Course ye do," Kistur muttered. "If yer truly the Princess, then tell me where the Mirror of Lady Lleilanellyn is hidden." He smirked.  
  
Cel inhaled sharply. The Mirror of Lady Lleilanellyn. At three, she first heard of it from the servants. When asked, her father refused to speak of it, so she'd pieced together the story from palace gossip.  
  
Then, when she was nine, she saw it. She didn't think the huge reflecting surface in her stepmother's private chambers was anything special. Not until she looked closely at the frame. Carved prettily onto it were the words: "To my wife, the Mirror of Lady Lleilaneyllyn I give to you. From the Morth-He I salvaged it as a token of my love. Victor."  
  
"Of course I know where it is," Cel retorted. "It's in my stepmother's private chambers. I was sneaking around to spite her, and I saw it."  
  
"How did you know that it was the Mirror?" Gaelan asked.  
  
"It's framed. There was a carving on the side, and it read 'To my wife, the Mirror of Lady Lleilaneyllyn I give to you.' I just assumed."  
  
"Anyone could've made that lie up," Kistur complained.  
  
"Your lineage," Gaelan probed.  
  
"My mother was Elyce Hermione Dae-Shinta of Canelrie, daughter of Baron Alecsandar of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Baron Henric d'Ammanh of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Baron Rulon Lothar of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Duke Yevgenyi of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Duke Ondro Perrin of Canelrie, son of Duke Stasik da Gautier of Canelrie, son of Sir Malory Woodville of Canelrie, son of Sir Tudor Graham of Canelrie, son of Sir Thaddus from Canelrie." Cel paused and drained her mug of ale. The foul taste made her wince, but it soothed her scratchy throat. "My father was King Victor Phalogn, son of King Uaine Phalogn, son of King Malcom Oratio Phalogn, son of King Valdemar Phalogn, son of King Reuban Phalogn, son of King Lafayette Phalogn, son King Francis Phalgon, son of King Riordan Tavo Phalogn, son of Prince Vladimar Phalogn."  
  
"O' course she'd know that if she was a spy!" Kistur snapped. "They'd see to it!"  
  
King Basilius sighed. "What can we do? For now, we'll trust yer story. Let us decide if it's true or not another day. For now, we eat."  
  
Cel breathed a sigh of relief. As she hungrily attacked her food, she knew that she was only given a little more time. What she needed now was proof.  
  
  
  
Chapter Eleven~  
  
Sen woke her early the next day and showed Cel her chores. It appeared that it was Cel's duty to do "women's work"--cooking, cleaning, washing, sewing, mending, and the like. She was shown the kitchen, which had an enormous hearth and various worn-looking pots, the nearest river, where to collect the dirty laundry, and the supply room. Sen also gave her a brief tour of the living area of the tunnels, warning her never to venture into the mines.  
  
"Stay down here, in the dwelling caves," he said. "The mines are...dangerous. You could easily grow lost or be crushed under a the collapse of a weak tunnel."  
  
"I'll stay here," Cel promised, and Sen smiled. She found that he liked his smile, which was fortunate since he smiled easily.  
  
"Lunch is at high noon," he continued. "Supper is at dusk. You'll be able to view the sun from the window in the kitchen. See it?" He pointed at a hole in the ceiling. "I'd best start hunting now. Game has been scarce lately, and Bazek will be furious if I don't bring anything home. He's angry enough that I don't do any of the mining, but nobody else can hunt, so what can we do?"  
  
"Bazek?" Cel repeated, confused. Sen started.  
  
"Oh. I mean King Basilius. Don't tell anyone that you heard me call him Bazek." It was more of a plea, for all that it was stated as a question. Cel smiled.  
  
"Don't worry, I wouldn't do that."  
  
"Alright then. 'Til the sun climbs high, princess." He bowed deep, the proper degree for a person to foreign royalty. She waved an arm in protest at this.  
  
"Please, just 'Cel' would be enough. I'm not a princess anymore," she said. It seemed as if his eyes darkened a tone, though this was technically impossible since his eyes were black.  
  
"I apologize for the behavior of my kinsmen, princess, especially my brother," Sen said. "You are a princess, and you should be treated as such."  
  
"Brother?" Cel repeated. A corner of Sen's lip curved upward. "Kistur is your brother? Pardon me, but there isn't much by way of physical resemblance."  
  
"No, there isn't," Sen laughed. "We're hearth-brothers."  
  
"Hearth-brothers?" The implied question was, of course, What is a hearth-brother?  
  
"As Children of the Mines--"  
  
"Dwarves," Cel breathed, then caught herself. "Oh, I'm sorry! That--that just came out!"  
  
"Yes, as the Children of the Sun call us." He held his arms out, as if for inspection. "But we hardly appear to be anything like Human dwarves, is this not true? Let not my kinsmen hear you utter this word, for they loathe it."  
  
"And do you?" The question was spoken before Cel realized that it was perhaps rude to ask such personal questions of her rescuer.  
  
"Yes," Sen answered, a flash of pain crossing his face. Then he shook himself. "As I was saying, as Children of the Mines we are at a young age pledged to one other, our hearth-brother, whom we must always protect and never betray. If one brother commits a crime against the Children of the Mines, the other must suffer the punishment as well. This way we look out for each other, keeping the other out of trouble's reach. Kistur is mine, as Adon is Leander's."  
  
"But you're so different!" protested Cel.  
  
"I think that they intended on that when they chose our brothers, perhaps so that we can learn from each other," Sen mused aloud. "But Leander and Adon are much alike. Both are fearless in battle, the most valiant fighters you've ever seen."  
  
"Have you been in battle before?"  
  
"You ask many questions," Sen told her, smiling wryly. "Yes, I have been in battle before, the last one barely fifty years ago."  
  
"Fifty!" Cel was stunned. Sen looked only as if he were eighteen, so how could he be over fifty? "How old are you?" Cel demanded.  
  
"Two hundred and forty-eight," Sen answered, amused. "We Children of the Mines have notably longer lives than your kind."  
  
Cel cursed under her breath. Had her tutor not told her? Dwarves were known to live close to a thousand years, sometimes longer. She wondered how she could of forgotten this. They were there own race, for all that people often confused them with human dwarves. Their culture revolved around mining, their nature usually gruff. It was known that Dwarves were suspicious of other people, and disliked associating with them. In fact, Dwarves were also known to rarely associate with each other, each clan keeping to themselves. They were not social people, or so the royal tutor had taught her.  
  
"The day's long begun," another voice boomed behind Sen. Leander's shaggy head appeared next to Sen's, his lavender eyes twinkling a greeting to Cel. "I think that ye'd best start the hunt, as I'd best show our visitin' princess here how to cook a decent meal."  
  
"I can cook," Cel protested. Leander laughed, a deep rumbling from his chest. It reminded her rather much of a lion's roar.  
  
"Not the food that we like to eat, princess." He gave Sen a friendly shove out the door. "Off with ye." Sen bowed again to Cel before leaving the large cave. Leander kicked at a large barrel in the corner. "Know what this is, princess?"  
  
"Rice?" she guessed. Leander guffawed and took off the top. She spotted speckles of color. "Beans?"  
  
"Ah, nay." Leander ran a hand through his thick hair, which unlike the night before was very messy now and much of it hung in his eyes. "I forget that yur a Child of the Sun and don't know these things. It's a type of food that my people like. It's cooked with everything."  
  
"Cooked with everything?" Cel asked curiously. Leander scooped a handful of it up. It was a fine powder, reddish brown in color, though there were spots of white and green as well as black. Dipping a finger in it, Cel tasted it. Instantly she spat it back out. "It's horrible!"  
  
"Ye didn't seem t' think so last night, princess," Leander said as he filled a cup with it. Cel gaped at him in horror.  
  
"You mean I ATE that last night?" He chuckled.  
  
"It flavored yur meat, spiced yur ale, an' helped make yur bread. Ye didn't notice?"  
  
Now that he mentioned it, Cel vaguely remembered the extra, strange taste of the food. Somewhat spicy and bitter at the same time, with an extra tinge of something she didn't know. So that's what it was.  
  
"I suppose it doesn't taste that bad when it's cooked," she said. Leander grunted as he cracked two eggs and dropped the yolks into the cup. "Where did the eggs come from?" It was, after all, wintertime. Leander eyed her curiously.  
  
"Why, Mortagels, o' course," he cried. "What other bird lays in the winter?" Cel's brows furrowed as she tried to understand what Leander was saying.  
  
"Mortagels? I've never heard of such a bird. Wait--do you mean Mertingales?" she asked, watching as he made dough from the powder and eggs. Leander grunted.  
  
"If that's what ye call them, princess." He kneaded the dough expertly. Catching her approving look, Leander grinned rather wolfishly. "I was the cook b'fore ye came a-long. Here, why don't you knead the dough?" Cel took his place and placed her knuckles cautiously into the brownish muck. It FELT like ordinary dough, at least.  
  
"So for lunch we have bread made with this," Cel summarized. "What else?" Leander opened another barrel and pulled out a pickle. Cel wrinkled her nose at the smell. She'd never liked pickles before, but this one smelled even worse than ordinary pickles.  
  
"That powder's used in the brine," Leander explained when he caught her look. "That's why it smells different."  
  
"And looks different too," added Cel when she caught the sight of the splotches of red on the pickle. Leander shrugged.  
  
"Best get used to it, princess," he said cheerfully, pulling a handful out of the barrel and placing them in a pot. Whistling to himself, Leander started working on building a fire in the hearth. It dawned on Cel that Leander was perhaps the most cheerful person she'd ever met. While Sen had small, easy smiles, Leander made no exuse to break into huge grins, all of his perfect teeth flashing.   
  
"You cook your pickles??" Cel cried incredulously as he hung the pot over the fire. Leander nodded as he sprinkled powder over the pickles and filled the pot with water.  
  
"I take it that ye haven't ever tried it, eh princess?" He eyed her dough. "Ready for baking?"  
  
"Why not?" laughed Cel. Leander gestured to a large stove next to the hearth. Obediently Cel set the dough inside, doubtful that it would actually turn into bread. "Now what about meat?"  
  
"That barrel, to your right," Leander answered. "Salted meat. The barrel next to it is jerky. We'll have our salted meat for lunch. Fresh meat comes at dinner." Making a face, Cel reached into the barrel and pulled out a wrapped cut of salted meat.  
  
"You cover this with that powder too?" she guessed as she set it on the stone table.  
  
"We'll need more bread an' meat than that, princess," Leander told her. "And yea, we do cover it wi' the powder. It's called Gamelin in our tongue. First discovered by Gamelin the Foreigner."  
  
Cel pulled more slices of meat from the barrel until Leander stopped her with the raise of his hand. She then began to unwrap them and wrinkled her nose at the smell of salt. Chuckling, Leander covered them with Gamelin. He handed a simple knife to Cel, gesturing to the meat. Understanding, Cel began to cut the meat into smaller slices. Leander began making more bread.  
  
"Tomorrow yur to do all this by yeself, princess, so pay attention," Leander said as he pulled eggs from yet another barrel. So many barrels! Cel didn't think she'd be able to remember which was which, and she told this to Leander.  
  
"I don't think I'll remember what goes in which barrel."  
  
"Ah, read the lids. Ye can read Minen, can't ye? Why, being a princess an' all." His tone was casual, but his eyes regarded her carefully. Cel shivered as she realised that this was a test.  
  
"I can read a bit," Cel said slowly. It wasn't an outright lie; she did know a few words in Dwarvish, or Minen as Leander called it. None of them happened to be food, though. "But I doubt the little that I know could be of use here."  
  
"What do ye know?" Leander asked, returning to kneading the dough. Chewing on her lip thoughtfully, Cel tried to remember what she'd learned. Her former life as a princess had seemed so long ago!  
  
"Directions," Cel said. "And I can recognize a few names. Mostly famous dwarvish Kings." Instantly Leander whirled on her, his humorous lavender eyes now wild and angry.  
  
"What did ye say?" he growled. Gulping, Cel averted her eyes. She'd done it now, she'd called them Dwarves. Hadn't Sen warned her about this? Now they were probably going to turn her out into the freezing cold or worse--send her back to her stepmother.  
  
"I-I'm so sorry! That...it just came out, and I...I'll never say it again! It's just that I-I'm so used to that word...and I know it's insulting, and...I'm sorry, but you..." she trailed off helplessly. Leander wordlessly walked to the hearth and pulled the pot of boiling pickles from the hearth, setting it on the floor. For the rest of the morning he spoke not another word to her and hardly made eye contact, his face almost blank. Sometimes Cel caught him sneaking glances at her, his eyes wary, the light of humor gone.   
  
She felt horrible and hated herself for letting the words slip. By the time they all settled down in the banquet hall for lunch, Cel sorely missed Leander's laughter. What good was being able to speak when it caused trouble like this?  
  
  
  
Chapter Twelve~  
  
Soon Cel discovered that the afternoons were spent in sweeping, mopping, washing, and sewing until Sen brought the meat. Then she was to cook until dusk. Leander still did not speak to her once for the rest of the day, and Cel somehow knew that to apologize would not make things better.  
  
Since the caves had been cleaned only a few days before, and the laundry only yesterday, Cel did not have much to do except mend Gaelan's trousers and one of Adon's stockings. Leander had tossed her a few yards of fabric with which to make her own clothing. The fabric was rough, coarse and undyed. She'd started on a simple dress when Sen arrived with a boar. Cel gasped.  
  
"A boar!" she cried in admiration. Sen sighed.  
  
"It wasn't my choice. Boars are hard to eat, but this one attacked me, and I hadn't come across any other game. I do not envy you the trouble you will have in attempting to cook this beast."  
  
Sen was right in that the boar was difficult to cook. Leander's jaw had dropped nearly to the floor when he saw the boar. Shaking his head, he took it from Sen in dismay.  
  
"What have ye done, Sen? Are ye trying t' kill me?" he muttered.  
  
"No praise, Leander?"  
  
"Praise? Why praise? When ye bring home a bear, I might praise ye then," Leander grunted as he pulled the spear from the boar's chest. "Or I may not. Bring me home a bear t' cook an' I might kill ye, Sen."  
  
"Ah, but then who would hunt for you?" Sen answered. "A bear would last us until the spring, I think. It's a good thought." Leander grumbled, pulling two arrows from the boar's head.  
  
"Waste o' good weaponry," Leander spat. Sen cocked his head to the side.  
  
"It's not as if we have any BAD weaponry. What's the thorn in your side today, Leander? Or will you not tell me?"  
  
"I'm in a black mood, an' I don't care t' tell ye why," snapped Leander. "Though this boar did nothin' t' make me day better."  
  
"Well, I'd best report to Bazek now," Sen said, stepping out the doorway. "He's probably saved the worst of the mining for me. Hope you're in a better mood by supper."  
  
"'Doubt it," Leander grumbled as Sen left. He tossed the bloodied arrows onto the floor. Grabbing a meat cleaver, he began to skin the boar. Cel felt sick as she watched him work vigorously to cut through the thick hide. Covering her mouth to force down the bile that was rising, Cel fled the kitchen. Once she was in the hallway, she retched freely.  
  
When her head cleared a bit, she returned to the kitchen. As wordlessly as Leander, Cel began making more bread, careful not to look at Leander or the bloody mess on the stone table. She'd baked bread, cooked pickles, cooked vegetables, prepared the stew, and assembled the dried fruit onto earthen bowls by the time Leander was finished with the boar.   
  
Supper was much different from the night before. They began to eat at once, speaking loudly to each other in a tongue Cel assumed was Minen. Minen was different from all the other languages Cel knew--the Common Tongue, Telrenaise, and Seawess. Her tutor had only briefly reviewed Elvish and Minen, as well as bits of Mornth, Landek, and Seish. Cel knew not a word of what they were saying, but she soon derived at the conclusion that 'Valei' meant ale.  
  
Leander was quiet, as he was the night before. His hair was again slicked back with water, and he only listened to the conversations, never taking part. Cel wondered why he was so different when he dined than that morning in the kitchen when he was so merry. Now he lounged casually in his chair, yet seemed was somehow serious at the same time. His expression was calm and cool, as if he were emotionless or simply choosing to mask them. In short, Leander seemed to be an entirely different person.  
  
Sen also did not speak. He kept his eyes on her, his expression the same as Leander's. He sat with his back straight, his manner calm and composed. Then he offered her another of his easy smiles.  
  
"Feeling left out?" he asked her in the Common Tongue. Sighing, Cel set down her fork. She'd had her fill of boar. It was tough, and now her jaws ached from the chewing.  
  
"I only know a little Minen," she admitted, glancing toward Leander. He was watching them with guarded eyes.  
  
"It's not as if they're saying anything terribly interesting anyway," Sen consoled. "Adon and Kistur are arguing over mining techniques. Gaelan is adding his wisdom, as usual. Bazek is trying to change the topic of conversation."  
  
"I still wish I knew more Minen," Cel sighed. Sen set down his silverware and leaned back into his chair. Glancing from him to Leander, she saw that they were now sitting in identical positions.  
  
"I'm sure you know by now that Valei means ale," he said, smiling. "Arco means the boar, or at least cooked boar. They speak in Minen because they choose to ignore your presence. I believe it is working quite well, judging from your expression."  
  
"Are they talking about me?" Cel asked when he saw Kistur glancing at her with dislike. Sen stiffened.  
  
"Of course not. It would be rude. If we were speaking about you, we would be sure to speak in Common Tongue, so that at least you will know what we are saying of you."  
  
"That's fair," Cel said slowly, "though I don't like to be talked about, in Common Tongue or in Minen."  
  
"Neither does anyone else, but it happens. We believe that if you are going to speak badly of anyone else, you should at least let them hear you speak of them in this manner. To not do so would be..." Sen struggled visibly for the word. "To not do so would be...dishonorable, sneaky."  
  
"Why is it that you don't speak with an accent?" Cel asked suddenly. "The others do, but you speak Common Tongue so...well."  
  
"I would prefer not to discuss this," Sen said, his smile falling. Leander leaned forward then.  
  
"He prefers not t' discuss it 'cause it involves his mother," Leander explained. "An' his mother isn't exactly in high favor with our people. Ye see, his mother was not--"  
  
"That's enough, Leander," Sen interuppted. Though he did not raise his voice, his tone implied the warning. Leander shrugged and leaned back into his seat.  
  
"Yul figure it out soon enough," Leander finished. Cel gave Sen an apologetic look.  
  
"I didn't mean to pry," she said. "It was meant to be a compliment."  
  
"A compliment to speak a foreign tongue better than my own?" Cel heard the edge of bitterness in his statement.  
  
"What do you mean? I mean, if by that I'm not prying," Cel added. Glaring at Leander, Sen met her eyes slowly, his black eyes filled with spots of orange from the reflected torchlight.  
  
"You are prying," he said simply.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"She's gone, Ranita," Lada told her bluntly. "It's been more than a week since anyone's seen her. She must've run off."  
  
"No!" Ranita cried, sobbing. "Snowy would...Snowy'd never run off!" Lada held the crying woman, crooning words into her ear. "She can't be gone! What'd I do without her?"  
  
"Move on," Lada replied. "You're a survivor, Ranita. You lived when your family burned, you continued when your husband was executed, you didn't betray us when they tortured you, and you moved on when Tusa died. You'll move on again."  
  
"My heart can't take it," Ranita whimpered. "How much loss can one woman take? How much sufferin' can ya endure 'fore ya break? She has to come back, she has to."  
  
"And what if she doesn't?" Lada said reasonably. "You'll spend the rest of your life hoping for something that will never happen."  
  
"She'll come. Maybe she got lost, but she'll come," Ranita declared wildly. "She has to."  
  
"You're just setting yourself up for disappointment," Lada said impatiently. "The sooner you accept that she ran off, the sooner you can move on."  
  
"She didn't run off!" Ranita shrieked. "She got lost an' had trouble findin' her way back! But she'll come back!"  
  
"What if she got lost and starved to death?" Lada said coldly.  
  
"That's what ya want to think! Ya only want to believe the worst!"  
  
"Now Ranita...why would I do that? I'm usually the one who thinks the best of things, but....Ranita, she just ran off. I mean, what did we ever know about her in the first place? She was a complete stranger to us, Ranita."  
  
"Not to me!"  
  
"Well, I know you thought of her as your daughter, but she wasn't. Think on the bright side--at least you won't have all those boys pestering you about her anymore," Lada joked. Ranita's eyes widened.  
  
"That's what this is all about? About them boys? About how them boys're all after my Snowy, leaving your daughters alone? Ya took Snowy into the woods, didn't you??" Ranita acused wildly. "Ya took her out into tha woods, got her all lost, just so them boys would oggle after your daughters! Wicked woman!"  
  
Lada backed away from the ranting woman in fright. Ranita flung herself at Lada, tackling her to the ground. Lada cried out as she shielded herself from the blows of the crazy Ranita. Ranita's eyes were wild; she beat at Lada with a crazed frenzy. Onlookers struggled to pull Ranita up.  
  
"I hate ya Lada!" Ranita snapped. "I hate ya!" Lada touched her swelling face as two men kept Ranita at a distance.  
  
"You are no longer in your right mind," one of them told her. "The Council will hear of this."  
  
"I am in my right mind!" Ranita cried. "It's Lada that's crazy!!"  
  
"That's for the Council to decide," the other told her calmly. "They'll see if you're fit enough to stay with us. We can't have crazy people in the Elven Circle. You'd be a danger to us all."  
  
"Ya'd turn me out?" Ranita gasped. "After all I did for ya? I was one o' the first! I helped build the Circle with my bare hands! Ya can't turn me out!"  
  
"But we can't have an insane person among us either," he told her. "Now let's go."  
  
Ranita let them drag her along, numb. First she lost Snowy, and now the Elven Circle was turning her out. Or, if they thought she would betray them, they would kill her. Ranita understood the system. She had, after all, helped create it. Now she was losing her place here. She had lost everything that ever mattered to her.  
  
Her world was falling apart. 


	6. Part Five

AN: sorry that ch. 13 is too descriptive and...uh...to the point of stuffiness, but it's necessary, so bear with me, ok? And I know part of the second scene is really just a restatement of what you already know, but I felt that it was important to drill that info into your skull! Now, on with the story!  
  
Chapter Thirteen~  
  
Ranita could remember the days when the Elven Circle was first created. There was first Sakeri, Zora, Kalliope, Amin, Majid, Sibeta, Tyler, Dustine, Raines, and herself. The First Ten. Raines was their leader; it was he who helped them escape the dungeons and flee to the nearby woods. A natural leader, Raines led through the swamps of Mornth decided to make their home in these woods.   
  
Zora told the of campfire stories, and she told them of the ancient Elves who supposedly build entire cities in the trees. Majid the Dreamer convinced them to do the same. Ranita was the best at manual work; she never complained and did the most. After they'd built their first homes, extremely crude compared to the ones that existed now, Dustine jokingly dubbed it the Elven Circle.   
  
Sibeta the Kind-Hearted found other suffering people, gathering them to join The First Ten. Runaways, fugitives, people escaping from the law...all found welcome in the Elven Circle. Soon there was entire village, a village that needed order to survive.  
  
The Council was Tyler's idea. Nine people to form the Coucil. They would have to be wisest of all in the Elven Circle. As the Council they would appoint the jobs of every member of the Elven Circle, make laws, and carry out justice when a crime was commited.  
  
Insanity was a crime. Anything that could betray the Elven Circle or hinder its existence was a crime. The life of one was less important than the survival of the whole. Creating a fire, making too much noise, not covering one's tracks, not contributing to food-gathering...all crimes. Running away from the Elven Circle was the one of the worst crimes. That person's name was no longer allowed to be spoken, their belongings buried or drifted downriver. Any who helped the runaway was killed.  
  
The mentally incompetent were also killed. Since the creation of the Council, five people were declared insane. All had lost their families before and most had suffered torture at the hands of the King's men, the Victorens. The silence of life in the Elven Circle, or perhaps the law that they could never communicate with loved one's again, drove many mad.  
  
Ranita had lost her entire family, and she knew all too well the torture Victorens could inflict.  
  
When the first Council was established--Raines, Tyler, Sibeta, Zora, Dustine, Proctor, Ulliam, Innis, and Allan--Ranita was twenty. In the last thirty years she had established respect in the Elven Circle, for being hard-working as well as a member of the First Ten. She protested unjust laws and healed the ill. She married the much-loved Majid, which further raised her in the eyes of the Elven Circle. Who would have thought that "Ol' Ranita" would become the sixth person in the Elven Circle to be executed?  
  
The entire village watched as the Council gathered. From the original nine there was only Innis and Dustine. The other seven had passed away. Ranita knew their replacements well. Tawen and Verlen were twins that Ranita had helped to birth. Kannon was the little boy Ranita healed when his skull was split open. Jemain was the young man Ranita had found in the forest, starving and nearly paralyzed. To Haidee Ranita taught the use of the bow, and to Luna and Lunn, siblings fleeing from an abusive father, she taught the healing arts. Surely these people who knew her as well as she knew herself would not condemn her?  
  
Nine cold faces were all that she saw. Innis was the first to speak, soft Innis who was now as old as she. He stood and addressed her formally with no flicker of recognition in his eyes.  
  
"Ranita of the First Ten, you stand under the charge of insanity and therefore are a possible threat to the existence of the Elven Circle. So say witnesses Lada, Matteen, and Samuel. Do you deny it?"  
  
"Yes," Ranita answered fiercely, pushing her chin outward. "I only momentarily lost my temper."  
  
"Lada, what say ye?" Jemain asked. Lada did not step forward. She remained in the crowd, contemplating what to say.  
  
"I agree," Lada said at last. Kannon stood in agitation.  
  
"Then why are you wasting our time?" he demanded, glancing at Ranita. Matteen, one of the men who had dragged Ranita to the Council, stepped forward.  
  
"I have known Ranita for a while," Matteen began, "and she has never lost her temper before. Today she flew into such a rage that she attacked Lada and beat her."  
  
"Losing your daughter can cause one to become easily irritated," Ranita protested. "In my grief I grew short-tempered. That is all."  
  
"Snow White?" A muscle in Innis's cheek twitched. "I have not heard of her death."  
  
Ranita glanced at Lada to see if she would tell the Council of Snowy's disappearance. The woman did not meet her eyes.  
  
"We think that she got lost in the wood," Lada said finally. Innis raised an eyebrow.  
  
"'Lost,' you say?"  
  
"Lost," Lada declared firmly. "Missing."  
  
"Has a search party been sent?"  
  
"Yes, and they haven't found her yet, but they will," Lada told him. She sighed. "Please, this was all a misunderstanding. Ranita is not insane. There is no need for this gathering. All of you know that Ranita isn't crazy. Any one here would quickly tell you so."  
  
"She has gone crazy," Matteen insisted. Lada glanced at him sharply.  
  
"Have you never lost your temper before, Matteen? I believe once you were so furious with your son for courting my daughter that you whipped him soundly. Yet here you are, eager to kill another for an action you commited not so long ago."  
  
"Yet Matteen easily loses his temper," Samuel protested. With one hand he restrained Matteen, who looked ready to throttle Lada for her words.  
  
"Hardly justification." Lada turned to the council. "Have we all not lost our temper once in our lives or acted out of character? Yet we were not accused of insanity, were we? I ask the same consideration for my longtime friend Ranita. She was stressed."  
  
Innis stared at her for a long moment. Behind him, Luna and Lunn whispered to each other. Innis waved an arm to Matteen.  
  
"Your temper," he began, seeing his clenched fists and red face, "deem you unfit to be a witness here. From Lada's testimony, and because this is Ranita's first offense, we will ignore this incident."  
  
"Thank you," Lada said gratefully. Innis gave Ranita a stern look.  
  
"I suggest you keep tighter rein on your temper in the future," he told her. Ranita, who had not yet spoken, at last looked him in the eye.  
  
"Ya don't need to worry about that, Innis," she told him. He looked puzzled for a moment before nodding and dismissing them. Lada hugged her as they left the meeting.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ranita," she whispered. Ranita smiled wryly.  
  
"Was my fault too," she replied. Lada smiled.  
  
"Well, that too. I'm surprised the trial was so short, but Innis was right. It is your first offense, and you are of the First Ten, after all."  
  
"Yeah. I haven't seen a trial that short since--hell, I've never seen a trial so short!"  
  
Ranita glanced around, then pulled Lada with her into her house. She stared at Lada for a long moment. Here was her closest friend. Lada knew everything about her--her past, joys, sorrows, dreams, hopes...Ranita could not recall ever having told Lada a lie in her entire life. She must truly have gone momentarily mad to have thought that Lada would even dream of harming Snowy.  
  
"I'm leaving, Lada," Ranita said seriously.  
  
"What do you mean?" Lada whispered. "You're--you're running away??"  
  
"No," Ranita retorted. "I'm leaving. I'll not betray the Elven Circle, no need to worry 'bout that. I'll head north, to Telren. I'm leaving this country, Lada, an' I'm leaving the Elven Circle. Can't ya see? I've lost my place here. People'll doubt me now, doubt my sanity and my virtue. There's no reason for me to stay."  
  
"But...what am I to do without you?" Lada all but whimpered. Ranita placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  
  
"You're going to stay here an' keep an eye out for my Snowy."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The rules the Children of the Mines set upon Cel were simple: do all of her chores without complaint, obey King Basilius, and never leave the dwelling area, which was the lower part of the mountain and extended four levels underground. It consisted of two hundred very small bedchambers, the huge dining hall, seventy living chambers, five workrooms, two kitchens, four public bathrooms, and the washroom. The washroom was a cave the size of the kitchen with a pool of water in its center. Cel later learned that the water came from melted snow that ran down from the peaks of the mountain, which the Children of the Mines called Vortneth.  
  
At first these rules were easy to follow. Her chores kept her too busy to think of much else. As she swept the caves clear of dust, Cel wondered why there were so many rooms for so few people. She couldn't tell how much time had passed since anyone had actually lived in these chambers because they were kept so spotless. Because some of the Children of the Mines were somewhat still hostile and wary of her existence, she decided not to question them, for the moment.  
  
One day Cel discovered another cave. It was so small that when standing in it she could touch all of the walls with her fingertips. There was no roof to this cave--sunlight poured freely in. When Cel brushed away the soft layer of snow on the ground, she could see the remains of what used to be a garden. Most of her day was spent in solitude; the only time she saw any of the Dwarves was during mealtimes. That evening, she asked about the garden.  
  
"Leander planted vegetables and fruits," Sen explained to her. "When spring comes, that is what you are to do."  
  
"I miss going outside," Cel sighed. "The caves are so stifling."  
  
"Yea, a human'd think so," Kistur sneered, hearing their conversation. "I'll bet she's 'fraid o' the dark, too. And enclosed places."  
  
"That's enough, Kistur," Sen said quitely. Kistur looked at Cel with contempt.  
  
"if she finds our caves so stiflin', she can leave. We're not 'ere to--"  
  
"I said that's enough," Sen repeated. He had not raised his voice; this was not his way. Yet, as Cel had learned, something in his calm voice still acheived the same affect.  
  
Kistur raised his hands to show his goodwill. "Eh. She's yer maid'n. Though if I was ye, brother, I'd watch me back. Don't trust this lassie any, Sen, and nigh should ye." With one eye he looked Cel up and down. "And I thought ye'd better taste in women, Sen."  
  
Sen didn't answer this, instead returning to his food as if nothing had happened. Cel on the other hand, burned with fury. It was a common scene, one that replayed itself every supper. One of the company would question Cel's intentions, or insult her, and Sen was always fend them off. King Basilius and Gaelan were impartial, and usually tried to stop such arguments without taking sides. Thus Cel divided the Dwarves into two groups--one that defended her and one that attacked.  
  
Despite that the days fell into routine, every week the same as the one before it, Cel somehow didn't feel that this life was monotone existence. Rather, living in the company of the Children of the Mines excited her. They were a strange family to her, not as affectionate as the Elven Circle, not as cold as her stepmother. They were both, yet they were neither.  
  
King Basilius was most like her father, trying to be fair and just to everyone, never favoring any of them. Adon and Kistur she considered to be like brothers or cousins, and she looked upon their insulting of her as sibling rivalry. Gaelan was the advisor and godfather of sorts, healing injuries and giving her tips on her chores.  
  
Leander and Sen were the hardest for her to categorize. She could say that Sen was an elder brother, as he always defended her, yet Sen somehow had an untouchable wall around him, preventing them from growing closer. Sen was kind, and often quite brotherly, but he was too cool and distant to truly show affection. They had pleasant conversations, but they were mostly on meaningless, or nearly meaningless, topics. Cel tried to grow closer to Sen, learn more about him, but something always stopped her from doing so. Just when she thought she could confide something to him, Sen seemed to push her away.  
  
If it was possible, Leander was even harder to puzzle out. He and Sen seemed very similar. Leander had a similar air of coolness and distance, yet he did not have the same barrier that Sen possessed. Cel knew this from experience; she clearly remembered his easy manner, the wolfish grins and roaring laughs. Now that he barely spoke to her, Cel knew only his guarded expressions and carefully planned words. To his companions he still laughed and joked, but the laughs were controlled, the jokes well-planned. At last Cel decided to simply classify him as a brother who was always away and she didn't know well.  
  
Soon, though, she began to itch for the outdoors. After four years of sweet freedom, four years after an earlier four years of confinement, she needed the outdoors as much as she needed water. When the snow began to melt and the ground became muddy, Cel could stand it no longer. Earlier she had simply contended herself with standing in the garden cave, letting the sun fall on her face and breathing in crisp air, enviously watching the occasional that ventured into the cave. Now she HAD to be outdoors.  
  
"Why can't I go outside?" she demanded. "If I finish my chores, or if I wake up early in the morning, why can't I just take a brief walk? I wouldn't venture far!"  
  
"Lass, it's dangerous," King Basilius said. "And ye might get lost."  
  
"I said that I wouldn't venture far! I'll stay close to Vortneth. I can hunt, too. Maybe one day Sen could cook and I hunt instead. I may not look it, but I could hunt better than many boys in my village," Cel declared. King Basilius's frown deepened.  
  
"I'm 'fraid it can't be done. Sen can't cook, and ye will venture off. No offense lass, but it's natural for one to forget and then wander away 'fore remembrin'," he said kindly. Cel squashed the urge to throw a tantrum.  
  
"But I HAVE to go outside!" she wailed. Then she winced, realizing how childish that had sounded.  
  
"In summer she could go down t' the river t' fish," Leander said suddenly. Cel looked to him in surprise. He was helping her!  
  
"True," Gaelan said. "Sen, though skilled archer, can't well fish."  
  
"And what's to stop 'er from runnin' away?" Kistur demanded. King Basilius glared at him.  
  
"Indeed, what's? She's a guest, not priz'ner." He nodded to Gaelan. "Right then. In summer, ye can fish."  
  
Cel wanted to protest that she couldn't wait until then, but she decided not to press her luck.   
  
"Thank you." She chewed her lip in thought. If Sen couldn't fish, what else was there that he couldn't do, but she could?   
  
"I could gather eggs," she added suddenly, excitedly. "I'm really good at that! In the springtime...I can climb trees well, and any egg you want, I can fetch!"  
  
This brought a laugh from the company, and Cel's face fell. What was so funny? Perhaps they didn't want any eggs or were content with Mertingale eggs.  
  
"Sen's good with eggs an' tree-climbin', lass," King Basilius told her. "Nimble thing, he is. Scales up a tree faster than the eye can see. Tricks the birds of their eggs 'fore they know it's missin'."  
  
"Oh," Cel said as her heart sank. Adon grinned at her, the first time he ever looked upon her positively.  
  
"He'd be better than ye anyway, lass. Why, being half wood-faerie an' all!" he said, pounding the table. Everyone was suddenly quiet, some of them stopping mid-laugh. The previously carefree air was filled with tension.  
  
"Half wood-faerie?" Cel repeated in confusion.   
  
She looked sideways at Sen. Now she realized that he DID look different from the others. He was taller than them all, lean and lithe. They were sturdy, broad chested, and strong. While he was clean-shaven, they all wore beards of some sort. Sen's eyes were black whilst the others had pale colored eyes. Then there was also how he didn't have the same accent that they did. "That explains a lot," Cel said at last. "His lack of accent, why he looks different."  
  
No one answered her statement. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.  
  
  
Chapter Fourteen~  
  
  
Queen Minerva stood before the mirror, wearing only her simple white nightgown. The moonlight filtered through the open windows, making her skin aglow with light. She admired her reflection. No one her age had ever managed to retain such radiant beauty.  
  
"Mirror," she began, her skin tingling with anticipation. It had been several years since she had asked the mirror this question, as she had been too busy thinking of other things that she did not have enough time to endulge her vanity. "Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"  
  
"Fair is the queen I see," her reflection began, "but another is far fairer than thee. Two women, though one is still a child, outshine the beauty of the queen."  
  
"It cannot be!" Queen Minerva hissed. "How much have I changed in three years? In three years have I aged so far that...no! I will not believe it!"  
  
Indeed it had been three years since she last asked the mirror. With a trembling hand Queen Minerva touched her face. There were wrinkles there now, but surely a few wrinkles did not make a difference! There were bags under her eyes, but she could rid herself of them with a simple spell.  
  
"Magic mirror," Queen Minerva said at last, "Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"  
  
"One who is not human, one who is only part. The second has beauty of spirit, the first has beauty of heart. They are the fairest in the land."  
  
"Yes, but who ARE they??" Queen Minerva cried. Her reflection cocked her head in agitation.  
  
"You know the second, the one who is only part human. Do not ask me for that which you already know," she snapped. Queen Minerva gasped, and she had reason. This was the first time her reflection had ever spoken to her without a preceding spell.  
  
"You--you--"  
  
"Surprised?" her reflection asked, raising an eyebrow. "The Mirror of the Lady is no ordinary mirror, nor an ordinary magic mirror. It has been amusing these past decades, to watch you try to figure me out. Though I grow tired of your stupidity."  
  
"Stu-stupidity??" Queen Minerva stuttered. Her reflection laughed.  
  
"Yes, stupidity. I wondered when you would figure out...why, the other uses of me. Do you think I am to be your spyglass to the world? Hardly. I obey you when I choose. I am not your slave."  
  
"And if I threaten to smash you?" Queen Minerva growled when she finally recollected herself.  
  
"You forget that I've already been smashed before. That would be your loss, not mine. How long do you think I have been a mirror? It is quite tiresome. Of course, at first I thought that it would be interesting, great fun. Now I know the consequences of my folly." She glared at Queen Minerva. "To think that I would require an idiotic rhyming verse in order to work. What sort of magic mirror would I be, then?"  
  
Feeling her cheeks flush, Queen Minerva glared back at her reflection. Then, her curiosity conquered her anger. This was indeed a most peculiar magic mirror. Queen Minerva had others, ones that her godmother had given her as gifts. They had never before spoken to her in this...this insubordinate fashion. Indeed, it never occured to her that magic mirrors had minds of their own.  
  
"Who are you?" she asked finally.  
  
"Why am I to tell you my secrets? I hardly like you." Sighing she continued, "but I've already given something away, I suppose. I wasn't always a magic mirror. That's all you have to know."  
  
"What shall I call you?"  
  
"Call me?" She chewed her lip, thinking. "How about...Perita? Yes, Perita."  
  
"So you were an Elf before you became a mirror? Or perhaps a Faerie?" Queen Minerva reasoned. "Or was were you a human once, and Perita was your name?"  
  
"Why do I have to tell you?" she demanded.  
  
"Why does it matter what I know or not?"  
  
"It matters to me!" Perita insisted crossly. "Now, do are you going to ask me that stupid 'fairest of them all' question again?"  
  
"Just tell me the answer," Queen Minerva said.  
  
"Ask nicely," Perita snapped. Queen Minerva threw her hands up in exasperation.  
  
"Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"  
  
"That's better," Perita said darkly. "Now, the fairest of them all...which one do you want?"  
  
"The one that I already know," Queen Minerva answered after thinking.  
  
Perita vanished. In her place stood a black-haired girl. She was slim, with long limbs and a tiny waist. Her skin was ivory-pale. Pale blue eyes regarded Queen Minerva curiously, her full lips a sunset red. She was perhaps sixteen years of age.  
  
"Icelynai," Queen Minerva said unbelievingly. "It can't be. She's dead. You said so yourself!"  
  
"I lie sometimes," Perita responded with a shrug as Cel's image disappeared. Queen Minerva gasped.  
  
"Then how do I know that you're telling the truth now?"  
  
"You don't," Perita replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "But look at her."  
  
So saying, Perita's image changed into that of Cel's. She smiled mockingly at Queen Minerva. "Surprised you still recognize her, though. She is beautiful, is she not? She'd grown lovelier while you...well, you've grown older." Perita/Cel held up a hand. "Flawless skin, a figure that could make you almost green with envy. And this face....so young, so--"  
  
"Stop!" Queen Minerva shrieked. "You're lying! I am the fairest! I am the fairest!"  
  
"Hmm..." the mirror replied, the image once again returning to that of Queen Minerva's. "Pity you don't want to listen to me. I haven't even begun to tell you anything interesting yet."  
  
"What?" Queen Minerva demanded. "What's interesting?"  
  
"You just can't accept the truth," Perita said with a yawn, her body beginning to fade. "There's really nothing to say to anyone like that..."  
  
"Tell me. Tell me!" Queen Minerva cried as Perita began to disappear completely. She stared at the mirror. It was a perfect reflection of the room save one detail--there was no one in it.  
  
She cursed at the empty mirror.  
  
  
  
  
  
Cel was determined to fish her best.  
  
Everyone in the Elven Circle had always commented on how she had a way with animals. Here was where that was put to the test. If she wanted to stay outdoors...she had to fish better than she ever had in her entire life.  
  
She didn't care that summer hadn't arrived yet. She went to the river anyway, though she knew that King Basilius wouldn't be pleased. Perhaps catching thousands of fish would ease his anger a bit, though.  
  
Dangling her hands in the water, she tried to be as still as possible. Soon enough, fish were swimming through her fingers. When a large one brushed her fingertips, Cel clutched it and drew it out of the water. Clasping it with both hands, she managed to toss it into the large pail that she had brought with her.  
  
The first catch of the day, and the sun had not yet risen. Good. Again she put her hands in the water. The unaware fish were snatched up easily. It was spring, after all. The pail was already half full by the time the sun did begin to wash the sky with light.   
  
The pail was heavy. Try as she might, Cel couldn't lift it. At last she decided to drag the pail back. Groaning and muttering words that she'd heard the Dwarves use, Cel dragged the pail behind her. She'd gone quite a ways, leaving a trail behind her, when she realised that she didn't remember the way back to the caves.  
  
Now she cursed outright. Glancing around, Cel attempted to recall which way she had come. One tree looked half-familiar, so Cel walked in its direction. However, Cel soon found herself even more lost than she was before. A blue bird chirped curiously at her.  
  
"Yes, I am lost," Cel said sourly. The bird hopped from one branch to another, cocking its head in question. It chirped again, then flew away. Making a face, and since she had no better idea, Cel followed the bird.  
  
It was a small bird and rather dark shade of blue, too. Thus Cel had trouble seeing it. She soon lost sight of it altogether, but continued walking in the same direction.  
  
"Mogyeun," she spat, though she really didn't know what the Minen word meant. "Last time I follow random birds." Leaning against a tree, Cel paused to catch her breath. The she heard the faint cry.  
  
"Princess!"  
  
"I'm here!" Cel cried at the top of her lungs. "I'm HEEEEERRRRRRRREEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
She screamed when a figure dropped out of the tree above her without a sound. Holding a hand over her heart, she recovered when she saw that it was Sen.  
  
"Don't ever do that again!" she said breathlessly. He didn't say anything but instead looked to her pail. Cel shoved the pail toward him with her foot. "I went fishing, the pail was too heavy, and then I got lost."  
  
"You know what Bazek will say," Sen said as he lifted the pail easily. Cel nodded gloomily.  
  
"I know, I know. I shouldn't have been--"  
  
"Yellow-eyed carp," Sen interuppted, pointing to the top fish. "His favorite."  
  
"Really? Does that mean that he won't be angry with me?" Cel asked hopefully. Sen laughed softly.  
  
"No. But it will make him soften the punishment a bit," he replied.  
  
"Punishment?" she repeated, suddenly terrified. Sen saw her look and smiled to reassure her.  
  
"Just more chores, I'm sure," Sen told her. "You weren't there to cook breakfast, so Leander had to do it." He started walking--in the opposite direction that Cel had been traveling--and Cel scrambled to keep up with his long, light strides. "Actually," he said thoughtfully, "I think it's a good thing you went fishing."  
  
"How could it be a good thing when I get more chores?" she demanded.  
  
"For one thing, we haven't had fish in such a long time that everyone will love you."  
  
"Love isn't that word I'd use," Cel replied. He laughed again, a soft, faint sound that was smooth as running water.  
  
"As Children of the Mines, we are fickle people. To win us over you need merely cook."  
  
Cel frowned, as she couldn't decide if he was joking or not.  
  
"And another thing," Sen continued, "is that Leander will be in a good mood as well. You see, he rather enjoys cooking, though he would not admit to it."  
  
"And you?" Cel asked curiously.  
  
"And what about me?" he asked blandly.  
  
"What do you enjoy? Do you enjoy hunting?" She wasn't sure if he would actually answer, as he usually didn't like to talk about himself. Cel was determined to learn something about him, though.  
  
"Yes," he said after a while. Then stronger, "Yes. Hunting is my passion.The way the bow fits, how the arrow and the string are tight with tension before the release....the trees." He lifted his free palm upward, glancing up at the bare trees overhead. "Climbing them. The feel of bark beneath your hands. Forest. The leaves and the wind whistling past your ears, through your hair. The sweet scent of the wood--"  
  
He stopped, suddenly embarrassed. Cel gripped his arm.  
  
"No, continue," she protested. "That was beautiful."  
  
"No," he answered hastily, shaking himself. "No, it wasn't."  
  
"Yes, it was," Cel insisted. "I finally know something about you! And the way you described the forest...that was pure, heartfelt."  
  
"No," he said harshly. It was the first time Cel had ever seen him lose his cool demeanor, raise his voice. "No. It wasn't. It was foolish. Forget everything I said."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I'm a Child of the Mines. The Mines are my home, not the woods. The darkness of the mines, the joys of unearthing minerals. That is what I enjoy."  
  
He sounded so sure of himself that Cel almost believed him. Almost.  
  
"Why do you lie?" she asked. "Why should you have to lie about liking the forest? The forest is wonderful. You shouldn't have to hide that. What shame is there in that?"  
  
He didn't answer. She watched him carefully as they continued walking. She recalled what Adon had told her the previous night. He was half wood-faerie. Half wood-faerie and half...Dwarf?  
  
"Oh," she said suddenly as she understood. "I see."  
  
"Do you?" Sen asked.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ranita slipped easily away from the Elven Circle. She had a pack of dried food on her back, enough to last her the journey. She ran, her footsteps silent. Twisting between trees, winding around them, Ranita made sure to confuse a possible follower.  
  
A lone tear coursed down her cheek. A brief hug with Lada, the only good-bye she'd been allowed. Would they miss her? She'd devoted her life to the Elven Circle, only to watch their faith in her vanish in an instant.  
  
Even though Innis had not condemned her, she'd seen the looks in the eyes of the people after her trial. The respect was gone. Ranita had nothing but her respect, and now that it was gone there was no reason for her to stay.  
  
Telren. Would she like it? Ranita hoped so, as she was heading in that very direction. Well, she was heading toward the mountains anyway. She really didn't know where Telren was, only that it lay somewhere past those mountains.  
  
Then there was also the thought of Snowy. She was dead, Ranita knew now. It was the only reasonable answer. And yet...yet she did not feel that Snowy could be dead. No, Snowy wasn't dead. But then if Snowy wasn't dead, Ranita would never see her again. That thought was more than she could bear.  
  
"Lada would take good care of her," Ranita whispered to herself. "If Snowy wanders back to the Elven Circle, Lada would tell her the truth, and then protect her."  
  
Still, this was no consolence. She looked toward the forboding mountains in the distance. Suppose...suppose Snowy had also run that direction? Suppose...suppose they happened to cross paths there?  
  
"Stop thinking such nonsense," she growled. "Lada's right. You're only hurting yourself this way."  
  
With a stiff upper lip, Ranita continued to run.  
  
  
Chapter Fifteen~  
  
Sen was right. King Basilius was both angered and pleased when he saw her. He decided that she was to fish in the spring as well, which was intended to be her punishment, but they all knew better.  
  
Sen was also right about another thing. Upon the sight of the carp, Kistur grudgingly complimented her while Adon even went so far as to give her a huge bear-hug. Leander even smiled at her, though he still didn't say a word.  
  
So, she thought, the way to a Dwarf's heart is through his stomach.  
  
She would do well to remember that. Fish had always been a favorite of her father's, so Cel knew how good fish tasted. Therefore she was able to cook for the Dwarves an entire feast of fish for breakfast, lunch, and supper.  
  
"You see, fish is the common dish for the Children of the Mines," Sen explained as he finished a second helping. "It always has been, ever since our ancestors first discovered it. Unfortunately, there are no underground pools or streams here. Since I am not a fisherman, we have had to do without."  
  
"How is my cooking?" Cel asked nervously. "I know my father would love it, but you are...are different. Is it too spicy for your tastes?"  
  
"Not salty enough," Sen said after chewing for a moment. "And not enough Gamelin. The spices are different."  
  
"Humph. You're just too used to salted meat." Cel wrinkled her nose. "I think it's fine without being caked in salt."  
  
"Boil egg on it," Adon told her. "Me ma used t'. Robin's egg on bass. Ye'd love it, I think."  
  
"Nay," Kistur protested. "Yer the only un who likes the taste o' robin's egg on fish. The real way t' eat bass is wit venison in a Gamelin stew."  
  
"Wit venison!" Adon cried. "Nay, I thinks Princess dun like the taste o' bass wit venison."  
  
"Gamelin stew?" Cel repeated. "Is that what I think it is?"  
  
"Aye, lassie. Though I thinks it be too strong for ye. Too thick for me, least the way Leander cooks it."  
  
"Mogyeun," Kistur spat. "Leander cooks better Gamelin stew than ye, Adon. What say ye, Leander? Cook Gamelin stew for the pretty princess."  
  
Looking to Cel, she waited nervously. He was lounged as casually as ever in his seat, thinking carefully. At last he shrugged indifferently, his eyes cold. Cel slumped in disappointment.  
  
"Matters not t' me," Leander said at last. "Though I'd say our vistin' princess don't like Gamelin much. Why don't ye ask 'er?"  
  
"I think I'd like Gamelin stew very much," Cel said quickly. Something about his manner made her mad. So he was still angry with her. Just how long could a person hold a grudge??  
  
"Really?" Leander raised an eyebrow coolly. "Right then. Our princess 'ere says she'd like Gamelin stew t'morrow. Guess I'm yer cooks then."  
  
"Mogyeun," Adon grumbled. On impulse Cel patted his arm.  
  
"I'm sure he'd cook a great stew," she reassured him. Adon viewed her with one eye.  
  
"Lassie, ye've never tried Leander's stews 'fore," he responded. Cel shrugged good-naturedly.  
  
"You've never tried my stews before either," she told him. "How do you know mine isn't worse?"  
  
"Not possible," Adon insisted, viewing her with both eyes now, two perfectly spaced and formed orbs in a face the vision of perfection.  
  
"Well, think about it. I've never cooked a stew in my life. Well, once, but I doubt that counts. MY stew was so thick, it caught fire. Think on it."  
  
Adon's response was to reach for another serving of fish.  
  
  
  
  
Queen Minerva gestured to the stack of thick books on her table. She nearly jumped with glee when Perita paled considerably.  
  
"What's this?" Perita demanded.  
  
"Books," Queen Minerva replied.  
  
"Yes, I can see that," Perita answered irritably. "What about the books?"  
  
"They're all about magic mirrors, my darling girl," purred Queen Minerva. "How to make one, how to make one obey you, how to trap a spirit inside one, how to release the spirit inside, how to destroy one..."  
  
Perita shook with fear, but attempted to hide it, clasping her hands behind her back and glaring at the grinning Queen, who made no attempt to hide her own emotions.  
  
"You're bluffing," Perita accused. "Only the most powerful people, with experienced magic--BORN with magic, not learned magic--can trap a soul inside a mirror. That knowledge is...is secret!"  
  
"Obviously not secret enough." Queen Minerva tapped a dusty volume. "Now, I have a proposition to make. One I think you'll like very much, my dearest Perita."  
  
"I'm not interested," Perita snapped. "I'll make no deals with you. I do what I want."  
  
"Am I right in assuming," Queen Minerva continued, ignoring her statement, "that the Lady placed you into this mirror as a punishment for something you did? That you want more than anything to be free?"  
  
Perita said nothing.  
  
"How about this? Be a nice, agreeable magic mirror, and I'll help you get what you want. Don't and..." Queen Minerva shrugged. "I suppose you can guess that there are a number of things I could do to you."  
  
This time Perita actually laughed. "You think you know what I want? What I fear? I've nothing to lose. What could there possibly be that you could punish me with?"  
  
Queen Minerva smiled coldly. "I could release you from that pretty little home you have there. Rip you from it and torture you. My husband's Victorens are...quite skilled in torture."  
  
Perita stared at Queen Minerva for a long moment before grinning as well. "Ah...but then you wouldn't be able to have the wonderful uses of a magic mirror any longer."  
  
"Hardly a problem," Queen Minerva said swiftly. "I'd just replace you with a more obedient servant."  
  
"If you really intended to do that, you wouldn't be giving me this 'proposition.'"  
  
"I believe in being fair," said Queen Minerva with a shrug. Perita laughed outright.  
  
"Being fair? You truly believe you're being fair? Oh, of course not, what am I saying." She clutched her belly as she nearly fell to the ground with laughter. "Fair? Fairness? Oh, you're a good one to talk to me about fairness. You forget that I'm a rather special magic mirror. I know all, see all."  
  
"All?" Queen Minerva asked with a raised eyebrow. "Really? This should be useful."  
  
Perita stopped instantly and scowled at her. "Oh, well, maybe I'll help you...a bit. But only for my entertainment! Not for any of this...'proposition' business."  
  
"Fine," Queen Minerva responded. "Now, tell me, where is Icelynai?"  
  
"No, no. Ask in rhyme."  
  
"Where is Icelynai?" Queen Minerva repeated through clenched teeth. "Long has been my wait. Where has she been of late?"  
  
"Of late?" Perita repeated, then dissolved into giggles. "Oh, dear. This is fresh. I can't tell you that, I'm sorry."  
  
"Why not?" the queen demanded furiously. Perita shook her head.  
  
"Against the rules. Against the honorable code of the magic mirror."  
  
"There is no such thing. Answer my question."  
  
"You're right. There is no such thing as the honorable code of the magic mirror. But there oughta be. I'll start one, maybe. But fine, fine. Let's see...for the past four years that you've been searching for her, she's been living with the Elven Circle, of course."  
  
"That band! Why...they're but a myth!"  
  
"If you say so," Perita responded. "Now please leave. I've answered your question, alright?"  
  
"I have more," Queen Minerva said angrily. "Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all."  
  
"Not THIS again!" Perita cried in exasperation. "If I tell you that you are, will you go away?"  
  
"I want the truth."  
  
"Hah! The truth! I already TOLD you! Well, if you must hear it again...one who is not human, one who is only part. The second has beauty of spirit, the first has beauty of heart. They are the fairest in the land."  
  
Queen Minerva listened carefully. Slowly she recalled what the mirror had told her the day before.  
  
"Icelynai," she began slowly, "is the one who is only part human. How is this so?"  
  
"How do you think? She was adopted, wasn't she? It's all very well that her parents could've been goblins or ogres. She could even have selkie blood, but she doesn't have the look."  
  
"So, what is she?"  
  
"Now THAT I definitely won't tell you. And if you ask me again, I'll lie."  
  
"What about the other one? The one who is not yet human?"  
  
Perita thought for a moment, hand on her hip before she responded. "No need to worry about her. She'd due to die in a few months anyway."  
  
"You can see the future?" Queen Minerva could not stop the note of awe from creeping into her voice. Perita straightened with pride.  
  
"Yes, I can. I can see the past, present, and future. Now leave me be."  
  
"Will you answer if I ask you a question about the future?"  
  
"That depends on the question," Perita responded warily. Frowning, Queen Minerva ran a finger over the spines of the books.  
  
"It think you're lying. If you could really see the future, you wouldn't have been so shocked when I brought these books in."  
  
"How do you know I wasn't acting?" the mirror countered, grinning wickedly. "But you're right. I can only see these things when someone commands me to."  
  
Perita stopped and clasped a hand over her mouth, horrified at the information she had just revealed. Slowly Queen Minerva sat into a chair.  
  
"Really? Fascinating..."  
  
AN: Since there's 3 chapters in a part, I update about every 3 wks. Just a head's up. 


	7. Part Six

Child of Snow  
  
  
Part six  
  
  
Chapter Fourteen~  
  
MORNTH-HE, 149 YEARS EARLIER  
  
Evelwyn had no need for worry, for she was the century-child, born on the first morning of the century. The blessed princess of Mornth had no care, indeed. The daughter of Drui MeNatth was free to spend her spare time as she wished, for what could possibly harm her, now that she had the goodwill of the gods?  
  
Through the forests of Morth-he Evelwyn ran, her dainty slippers soon muddy and her long hair filled with twigs and leaves. Evelwyn would hardly contain her excitement. At last she reached the stream and stood, panting. Where was he? Why was he so late today? Cupping her hands, she brought water to her face and drank. The coolness was so wonderful.  
  
At last she saw him. Amedon, son of a miller, emerged from the dark forest on the other bank, grinning with relief when he spotted her. Evelwyn laughed happily. He had not forgotten!  
  
"Amedon, cross the river," Evelwyn said. Amedon kneeled to drink the clean water. When he finished he grinned, warm brown eyes sparkling.  
  
"Ai, Evel, why am I always the one to cross?" he asked, feigning annoyance.  
  
"Because I am the one wearing a dress," Evelwyn responded practically. "Now come." With a large show that involved much splashing, Amedon crossed the stream. When Evelwyn and Amedon stood on the same bank, they embraced.  
  
"Evel, it has been much too long," Amedon whispered into her hair. She nodded in agreement.  
  
"Ai, but I have had trouble escaping their plans," she replied. Amedon clutched her tighter.  
  
"You promised that you would not speak of such things," he reminded her. "We promised each other," he amended.  
  
"I know." Evelwyn sighed. "Now, where are my flowers? You said they'd be fire-lillies this time! If you don't have my fire-lillies..."  
  
"I have them," Amedon said with a smile. With a few flourishes, Amedon plucked a triplet of flaming flowers out of the air. Holding them delicately by their black stems, so as to not burn himself, he handed them to an awed Evelwyn.  
  
"I didn't think..." she breathed as she took the flowers from him. The miller's son raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You didn't think I'd keep my word? Or that I couldn't do it? Dear Evel, I thought you had better faith in me than that! It cost me a pretty penny to learn that trick."  
  
"The local witch again?" Evelwyn asked as the twirled the lillies in the air.  
  
"Ai, not her. My mother." He said the last word hesitantly, and it was strange coming from his mouth, a word that he rarely used. Evelwyn glanced up sharply.  
  
"Your mother," she repeated. "Wha--"  
  
"Lei is waiting for us," Amedon interuppted. "She will be angry with us if we are late again, Evel. We'd best hurry else we might be turned into toads."  
  
"She probably wouldn't even notice that we were late," Evelwyn said with an unlady-like snort. "And Lei doesn't know how to turn people into toads. She tried to turn you into one when you messed up her potion, remember?"  
  
"Ai, how could I forget? My skin was warty for months," Amedon laughed. "Now, put the lillies away." One arm held her protectively as he muttered under his breath, "Ymaeni hlumodr!"  
  
Evelwyn felt the familiar sensation of being thrown backward as the forest around them began to spin. As always, her eyes remained open. For fear of being tossed out of the transportation spell, Evelwyn gripped Amedon tightly. They were floating--no, flying--backward through the woods. The trees around them were but a blur of dark green and black.  
  
Finally, when Evelwyn was sure that she was about to lose her lunch, they stopped. She staggered forward. Before her eyes rose the tall tower of her closest friend and relative, who she and Amedon affectionately called Lei. Even after the many times Evelwyn had visited it, the tower still amazed her. The structure rose far above the tall, dark trees of Mornth-he, a beautiful spiraling building that seemed to pierce the sky. It was narrow, with no windows except a large one at the very top. The building was brightly painted and carved with fanciful designs and magical runes. The tower was the hidden gem of Mornth, eons old and yet unknown to anyone but Lei's family, who had owned it since its creation.  
  
"Lei!" Amedon called. "Lei, we are here!"  
  
"With fire-lillies!!" Evelwyn added. "Pretty fire-lillies. I'll give you one if you come out right now!! I'm counting to ten, Lei. One...two...three..."  
  
"No need for fuss." Evelwyn turned to find the source of the voice, and grinned when she saw her cousin standing behind her. "Now, where are those fire-lillies?"  
  
"Here," Evelwyn said, handing her one. Lei smiled with appreciation.  
  
"Amedon, they're perfect," Lei complimented. "Did...she teach you?"  
  
"Yes," Amedon replied, seeming to understand her question while Evelwyn glanced in confusion from one to the other. The two shared a secret that they kept from her, and nothing irritated Evelwyn more than secrets.  
  
"How did you know?" Evelwyn demanded, her tone sharp.  
  
"How was your trip?" Lei asked, avoiding the question. "I sense that Amedon has improved? You don't look in much disarray. Relatively speaking, of course."  
  
"The trip was better," Evelwyn admitted. "Smoother, though I still feel dizzy and a bit ill."  
  
"Magical transportation will always have its flaws," Lei said with a smile.  
  
"YOUR spells always work out perfectly," Evelwyn pointed out. Shrugging, Lei turned.  
  
"Ah, but I'm born with that," Lei said humbly, leading them to her tower. "As you well know? Now, I have a wonderful new set of books Gemadir Hèrawyn found for me. I've been reading them, and...well, experimenting."  
  
"Transmogrification??" Evelwyn asked excitedly. "So you can turn me and Amedon into toads after all??" Laughing, Lei shook her head and opened the hidden door in the side of the tower, turning a series of carvings and sliding a large panel. With a groan, a door slid open.  
  
"No. Remember that one time I took you to see Gemadir Hèrawyn, and she gave you that very small mirror? The one with runes painted onto the surface?"  
  
"Oh, that," Evelwyn said with disappointment. "I don't see the point in that. I can't see my reflection, so why bother with a mirror like that?"  
  
"Don't worry. You're still as beautiful as ever," Amedon teased. "Though...is that a gray hair?"  
  
"Gray hair? What gray hair?" Evelwyn cried in mock-panic, touching a hand to her black locks. "Don't make fun, Amedon. One day we'll all have gray hair."  
  
"Not if I can help it," Lei said. "I'll find us all a potion for immortality."  
  
"And we will live forever as the three inseparable friends who cheated death!" Evelwyn said enthusiastically. "How IS that potion coming along?"  
  
"Horribly," Lei said glumly. "After all, no one has ever done it before, and I'm beginning to see why. Now, about that mirror. It was a magic mirror."  
  
"It was? Can it show me the future?" Evelwyn asked excitedly.  
  
"Didn't Gemadir Hèrawyn tell you?" Lei frowned. "She wouldn't tell me. Anyway, afterwards I asked her about magic mirrors, and she gave me so many books on them!"  
  
They trudged up the staircase. Evelwyn found it very hard to keep up with Amedon and Lei, both of them having notably longer legs than she did. Evelwyn found herself counting the steps as usual. She always lost count somewhere after seven hundred. The folly of this tower was that it really only had one room, at its very peak, but the room was a very large one. The impractability of the tower made was caused it to be so unused. In fact, since Lei's family was first given the tower, over nine hundred years ago by "Lovely Queen Ra," Lei had been the only one to inhabit it.  
  
"I've started on my first magic mirror," Lei announced proudly when they entered the room. Evelwyn gasped. In the center of the room was perhaps the largest mirror ever she had ever laid her eyes on. It was close to fifteen men across and twenty men high.  
  
"It's...rather large," Amedon commented.  
  
"Large? It's...it's so...Lei! This is...silly! What are you going to do with this mirror??" Evelwyn demanded. "Tell me that! There is no use for a mirror this large!"  
  
"It's a magic mirror," Lei protested. "Well...not yet, but it will be. Right now it's just an ordinary mirror."  
  
"What sort of magic mirror do you plan to do?" Amedon asked curiously. "Why one of this size?"  
  
"Because..." Lei hesitated. "I don't know why. Will you believe me if I say intuition?"  
  
"Did you have another vision? One where some faerie godmother orders you to create a mirror the size of a ship? Or perhaps you received a message from the gods, saying a big mirror will come in handy one day?" Evelwyn asked sarcastically.  
  
"It will," Lei insisted. "You will see, Evel."  
  
  
Chapter Fifteen~  
  
  
The summer came quickly, and though Cel usually hated such warm weather, summer in the mountains was nice. The air was still cool, but everything burst into full bloom. The greenery of the towering trees provided plenty of shade when it did grow a little warm.  
  
Cel became an expert fisherman. Suprisingly, the Dwarves never seemed to tire of it. Rather, the more fish Cel caught, the more easy-tempered the Children of the Mines seemed to be. Soon Cel learned to fish all down the river and discovered other useful pools and creeks with different varieties of creatures.  
  
Occasionally Sen would join her and they would sit by the water, dangling their feet in coolness and enjoying the plentiful breezes. He spoke no more of himself than he ever had before, but Cel grew to enjoy simply his presence and missed his company when he was gone. During their fishing moments, they rarely spoke, so as to not scare the fish, but the companionable silence was enough.  
  
When she had spare time, Cel learned of herbs and healing from Gaelan, who proved to be a great teacher and advisor. Once she mended Adon's broken arm, and he commented, "Princess, ye've got magic touch." It healed perfectly, and Gaelan deemed her better than any royal healer.  
  
Strangely she and Kistur grew to tolerate each other very well and even began to like each other. On a particularly hot summer day Kistur fetched for her a wild foal. The skittish creature calmed to Cel's touch. She named the beauty Vortnethismi, which was Minen for "Child of mighty Vortneth." Cel raised and cared for Vortnethismi competently and lovingly. Adon built a large paddock for Vortnethismi near the small lake a few miles downriver.  
  
Summer, for the first time, flew by. Fall came in a flurry of leaves and falling gold. Sen returned every day from his hunts with less and less to show for his work. His fishing visits were even rarer than before.  
  
With fall came more chores in furious attempts to prepare for the coming winter. Cel was required to catch twice as many fish. Some were salted and others were dried, much to her disgust. Everything from Leander's garden was harvested and stored.  
  
At last winter arrived. An entire year had passed and though she was closer to her new "family," she knew no more about their daytime business than she had before, and they seemed intent on keeping it that way. Cel was aware that they mined in the nearby mountains, but mined what?  
  
Then came her birthday. In the fourth week of winter, the Dwarves surprised her at breakfast (which Leander had lavishly cooked) with gifts. Cel hadn't expected them to know her birthday, but the Children of the Mines kindly reminded her that she was the princess, and it was in their best interests to know the businesses of their neighboring rulers.  
  
"Open mine firs'!" Adon boomed, handing her a plainly wrapped parcel. It was large, round, and the strings were knotted several times.  
  
"I have no idea what it could be," Cel said honestly, picking uselessly at the knots. "Help, please?" Leander gently took the parcel from her and tore in open, handing it back to her with his usual bland expression.  
  
"What ye think, Princess?" Adon asked nervously. It was all Cel could do to keep from laughing aloud. Adon had given her a cooking pot! With a beautiful wooden handle engraved with swimming fish, the message was clear: cook more fish.  
  
"It's delightful!" Cel said and gave him a quick hug. Adon beamed, looking even more handsome than usual. Kistur's gift was not wrapped. He gently placed it on the table before her without ceremony. A beautiful, rearing stallion returned her gaze. The wooden figurine was incredibly lifelike, painted and carved with painstaking care. Black hair sprouted from the wood as the tail and mane. The only oddity of the horse was the sparkling blue jewels, meant to be eyes.  
  
"Was a family heirloom fo' years," Kistur explained gruffly. "No one much wanted it but me. See, we Children o' the Mines don't care much fo' horses, 'cept that I do. Ah, little Blue-Eyes there I treasured. Me da said was firs' made by some wood carver from a Human village. Now Blue-Eyes is yurs."  
  
"Blue-Eyes. A fitting name," Cel commented, stroking the shiny hairs. Kistur shook his head.  
  
"Nay. His name's Ruyea."  
  
"I'll treasure Ruyea, I promise," said Cel honestly. "Thank you." Grunting an inaudible reply, he sat. Gaelan, eyes sparkling, slid a small package into her hands. It was wrapped with beautiful paper with pretty designs. Carefully she removed the wrapping, so as to keep it fully intact.  
  
She could smell the earth through the wrapping, the wonderful smell of fertile soil and plants. The wooden box was shiny red, and engraved in gold lettering was her name, though mispelled, and Cel frowned. It read, "Icèlæni Béyänè" in a rounded, thick script.  
  
"My name is misspelled," Cel said in her politest voice. "It's I-c-e-l-y-n-a-i B-i-a-n-c-a."  
  
"In Human form," Gaelan said, with the barest hint of scorn in his voice. "Any fool can tell that yer name is o' Faerie origin."  
  
"Oh," Cel answered. "Faerie origin?"  
  
"Aye. 'Of White Snow' or 'From Purest Snow' or even 'The Snow White' in the Faerie Tongue," Gaelan explained in his wise voice. "'Bianca' be the ignorant form 'o 'Béyänè' and Icelynai...why, lass, Icelynai isn even a Human name at all! If I recall right, Icèlæni Béyänè was the name of the Snow Queen near eight hundred years back."  
  
"So this belonged to HER?" Cel ran fingers over the carvings in the side of the box in awe. There were thick and thin swirls, elegant in their simplicity. Fancy whirls and loops joined the waves, painted in with silver and gold. There was only one jewel, a tiny sapphire winking at her from the lid of the box.  
  
"Mayhap. The Children of the Mines an' the People weren't much friendly. An' the key," Gaelan continued, handing her a tiny golden key. The box opened easily to the tiny key, and Cel swung it open to see...medicinal tools and herbs.  
  
"So ye can heal whenever the need arises," Gaelan explained.  
  
"Now, 'tis time for my gift," Bazek said loudly before Cel could thank Gaelan. "What d'ye wish for, lass? We've a large treasure, and ye can choose somethin' if ye wish it so."  
  
"Ah, King Basilius...I've no need for jewelery," Cel said humbly. "Not when I've such a family to care for me." Bazek laughed.  
  
"Who said 'twas jewelry? Nay, childling! The Children of the Mines have far better treasures! Would ye like a magic chest, to open with whatever gowns you desire? Or do ye fancy a magic ring, or a potion for power? A flying carpet, or a looking-glass?"  
  
"How do you HAVE these things?" Cel asked. The king chuckled.  
  
"The spoils of war, childling. We rid these mountains o' dragons years ago. What other creatures but dragons would possess such a hoard?"  
  
"True," Cel admitted. "But what need have I for such gifts? I--"  
  
"Lass, lass!" Bazek cried. "Name yer choice of gift else I choose for ye! No need t' be humble now."  
  
"Well..." Cel bit her lip, pondering. Having many gowns didn't interest her much, nor did power. The magic ring and looking-glass seemed nice, but...oh, a flying carpet! She grinned at the thought. Perhaps she could go out for a moonlight ride?  
  
"What of crowns for yer royalty?" Bazek continued. "Or a weapon? We've fine battle-axes, and many w--"  
  
"A flying carpet," she told him. "I would like a flying carpet."  
  
"Why a flying carpet??" Adon demanded, aghast. "Wit yer head up in the clouds when yer feet should be firmly in the ground??"  
  
"Wouldn't you want to see the world like the birds do? Feel the clouds? I would like to catch a cloud. Mayhap I'll fetch one down for you, Adon, and spin a shirt for you from it!!"  
  
"A flying carpet then!" Bazek concluded with a laugh. "Sen, fetch the princess a flyin' carpet from our treasury. The best, Sen!"  
  
"Nay, the smallest," Cel corrected. "One just my size, if it's not too much trouble."  
  
"O' course not, lass! 'Tis yer day o' birth, an' if we can't find ye a proper gift, what hosts are we??" Bazek questioned. Sen bowed slightly before slipping through a side door of the banquet hall.  
  
Now Cel glanced nervously to Leander. His behavior towards her had not changed and he was, she suspected, still judging the amount of "Human-ness" in her. Would he, too, give her a gift?  
  
"Happy birthday, Daughter o' the Sun," he said pleasantly. "What sort of gift do ye want? Truly? An' what sort o' gift to ye expect from me? Be honest, Child under the Sun."  
  
"Truly?" Cel was surprised by his questions. "Truly I expected nothing from you, and I deserve nothing from you since my earlier rudeness."  
  
The last thing Cel expected from him was his hearty laugh. She frowned even further as his lavender eyes twinkled in good mirth. He had not looked that way since a year ago, when he spent a morning with her in the kitchen.  
  
"Ah, Princess. Gifts aren't given 'cause they're deserved. They're given out o' goodwill. Though I must say now..." Leander paused, and his smile left his face. "'Twas perhaps childish o' me to behave so?"  
  
"Perhaps?" Cel repeated, still confused.  
  
"Though I still bear a grudge. D'ye feel yerself superior to us, we who hide in darkness? D'ye scorn us, as yer people scorn us? Aye, as we've been named 'Dwarves' out o' yer contempt?"  
  
"I never felt superior," Cel said softly. "And I called you a Dwarf out of habit. It was...'twas how I was taught, and I said it before I could think? I do not hold you in contempt."  
  
"Then I'll believe ye. Ye've yet to answer my other question," Leander reminded. "Truly, what do ye wish for? From me, or from any other?"  
  
"From you, I wish for friendship," said Cel instantly. "Though what I wish for most is not yours to give."  
  
"Then friendship'll be my gift!" Leander exclaimed and clasped her hands in his. "On yer birth-day, Leander o' the Children o' the Mines swears to be Icèlæni Béyänè's hearth-brother, companion to call on whenever in need, an' he'll be loyal to his hearth-sister unto death. To her life, his is bound."  
  
"Unamtothn," the others murmured under their breath.  
  
"Thank you," Cel whispered. That was the best gift you could have given, she added silently, for she understood completely the strength and courage behind his vow as Leander bowed to her and then returned to his seat.  
  
The solemn momented was halted by a strange sweeping sound.   
  
"Here is the best carpet," Sen announced as he dragged in a rolled rug. With a grunt he managed to pull the dusty object into the hall and dropped it at Cel's feet, kicking it open so that it unfurled neatly.  
  
The carpet looked very old indeed, and Cel doubted that it would actually fly. In fact, the carpet looked so old that Cel couldn't see the original design; maybe it had once been a dark blue color. The edges of the rug were unraveling, and there were tiny scorch marks and a dark stain.  
  
"The BEST carpet?" Cel asked incredulously. Sen nodded grimly.  
  
"Aye. The other ones had large holes in them or were threadbare. Unless you want an un-flying carpet, this is all," Sen said, shrugging his apology.  
  
"Try it this afternoon?" Bazek suggested. "After lunch?"  
  
"Good idea!" Adon said enthusiastically and clapped Cel on the back. The force of the blow made her gasp, and he instantly apologized, rubbing the wounded area.  
  
"I've yet to give my gift," Sen said quietly. He waited patiently for Cel to turn her attention to him before he carefully slipped his necklace over his head and fastented it securely around her neck. Tucking her chin as close to her chest as she could, Cel could glimpse the silver of the chain and the pendant. It was a tiny emerald, no larger than her thumbnail, carved in the shape of a maple leaf.  
  
"Nay, Sen!" Kistur burst. "Ye can't give her that! 'Tis all ye've left of yer parents!!"  
  
Cel gasped and tried to untie the necklace. "Sen, I can't take this!"  
  
He stopper her movements with his slender fingers. "Nay, Princess. Take it, for you mean much to me." Sen smiled. "Besides...it is a woman's necklace."  
  
"She still can't have it!" Kistur insisted. Cel nodded vigorously.  
  
"It is mine to give." Turning to Cel, his expression was that of dismay. "Do you not like it?"  
  
"Well...yes," Cel admitted.  
  
"Then it is yours."  
  
  
Chapter Sixteen~  
  
SLIVITT PROVENCE  
  
The prince of the Children of Snow scanned the horizon. Their time was coming. He could feel it, like a cool fluid in his veins, a sensation that caused him to tremble in excitement. It had been near ten years since his people had flown south of the Slivitt Mountains for the wintertime; the winters had been growing warmer in the south, and it was not safe for them.  
  
This winter would be hard on the Children of the Sun, but an oppurtunity for the Children of the Snow. Many blizzards were to come, he could sense. Yes, it was time that they once again migrated.  
  
The icy wings on his back, bare and blue, drooped at the thought of the long flight ahead. Yet his heart began to pound. South again! South again after so long an exile in the Slivitt Mountains!  
  
Of course, it wasn't really an exile, for the Slivitt Mountains was their home. Still, the Children of the Snow were nomadic people in ancestry, and they did not take kindly to reamaining in one place for nearly a decade. They had grown belligerent and angry with each other in their exile, fights occuring as often as the wind blew.  
  
The prince held out his right hand. The center finger bore a black ring, ebony against the blue of his skin. It looked to be a shiny iron ring. The Son of Snow brought the hand closer to his face. No, the ring was not iron but in truth several strands of black hair, tightly wound together to form the ring around his finger.  
  
'My prince?' a breathy voice asked tentatively in his native tongue. The prince sighed and glanced to his seneschal, his reply the weary smile upon his face.  
  
'We shall go south again,' he answered. 'The Long Migration. Prepare our people, Ciak. I intend to leave before the week is over.'  
  
'My prince...' the seneschal said disapprovingly. 'The South is too warm, and our people cannot fly so far.'  
  
'Not this year, Ciak,' the prince told him. 'This year the blizzards will return to the south, and we with them. Our people can fly that far, as in my parents' time it was customary to migrate every winter.'  
  
'Your parents are still alive,' the seneschal reminded sharply. 'Do not speak of them as if it were not so.'  
  
'Yes, but their time has passed,' responded the prince to the comment.  
  
'They are still the reigning king and queen,' continued Ciak. 'As you are still only the prince. Unless you intend for them to die in the migration...'  
  
'Ciak!' his prince cried. 'How could you even think that way? My parents are strong!! They will survive the migration, as they have survived the migrations of the past!' He softened his voice. 'Yet they are king and queen in name only, Ciak, and you know this.'  
  
'Ai,' said the seneschal heavily. 'And you've ruled us well for the past three years, my prince.'  
  
'Thank you, Ciak. It means much to me.' Sighing, he began to twist his ring around his finger, as was his habit. 'Please do not question my judgement?'  
  
'I supposed I will not, for now.' The seneschal eyed the ring. 'Do you still remember her?'  
  
'Who?' asked the prince in confusion. Chuckling, Ciak touched the ring on his prince's middle finger.  
  
'Her, of course. The one Human female. I believe you ran off often to meet her, in your childhood. Your parents disapproved, did they not?'  
  
'Ai,' agreed the prince, then peered at Ciak suspiciously. 'How do you know? Even my parents didn't know where I always ran off to, though they were quite angry with me for disappearing so often.'  
  
'They asked me to follow you,' replied the seneschal easily.   
  
'Ciak!!'  
  
'I was only doing my duty,' Ciak chuckled. 'Was she a good friend to you?'  
  
'The best,' the prince said at once. 'Though it saddens me that I can barely call to mind the image of her face. I had many fond memories.'  
  
'And you do not remember them?'  
  
'Only some,' admitted his prince. 'And even those are beginning to escape my memory. I find it harder and harder to recall her voice, though I remember that it was always light with laughter. It has been nine years, I believe? Perhaps ten, even?'  
  
'Do you think she would remember you?' asked Ciak gently.  
  
'I hope so. It is why I long so much to return South.'  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Where is this place?" Ranita politely asked the innkeeper. He was a kind man in appearance, short and stout with a bald spot and a face created for laughter.  
  
"We be the village of Salpas. Do ya wish to stay 'ere for the night?" he asked as he filled several tankards for the nearby men. Ranita shook her head.  
  
"I've not enough money, sir," she told him. He gave her a knowing look before handing the men their drinks. Then he leaned closer to her.  
  
"Don't let anyone know," he whispered, "but I'd be willing to let ya stay here for free. You look like ya haven't slept under a decent roof for weeks."  
  
"Sir, I couldna ask that of ya," Ranita answered, her voice just as low. Still, her heart sang with hope. "Perhaps...I could work for my stay? I can clean, or cook, or do laundry?"  
  
"We are a bit short on maids," the innkeeper said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "An' there's plenty of space up in the loft, if ya'd be willin'?"  
  
"At least a loft has a roof," Ranita answered with a laugh. The innkeeper chuckled and patted her hand.  
  
"I be Willem. An' as of now, you be the Crazy Cove's newest maid," he told her. "We're also a bit short on money, so the pay'll be small, but you'll be fed, clothed, and sheltered in stead."  
  
"The best deal I've ever had," Ranita said. "The Crazy Cove, eh? Who's idea was that?"  
  
"Me wife's," Willem said with a laugh. "She always was a bit nutty. Though I love 'er with all of my inkeepin' heart. Been married for near twenty years now."  
  
"Congratulations," Ranita said politely, smiling. "Now, just outta curiosity, why're ya short on money this winter? You seem busy enough." Indeed, the inn was bustling with diners, though most were strangely quiet.  
  
"Eh, the Dwarves have yet to come," the innkeeper said grimly. "See, in Salpas, we deal with the dwarves closely. Have for nigh a century. This year, they haven't come yet for the trade. Hurts us, see, since many o' the people here depend on their trade."  
  
"Perhaps they're delayed," Ranita suggested.  
  
"Perhaps," Willem said doubtfully, then seemed to shake himself. "And what be your name, maid?" he asked. Ranita laughed.  
  
"Ol' Ranita," she said honestly. "Or Ranita Leontine Smithee, the blacksmith's daughter."  
  
"Ranita Leontine Smithee, a hearty welcome from the Crazy Cove! Now, what'll be your first paid meal here? Perhaps ya'd like filling stew?"  
  
"Yes!" Ranita cried. "Stew, stew, stew!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall--" Queen Minerva began, only to be cut off by Perita.  
  
"Who is the fairest of them all," she finished. "Well, not you, so why do you care? In fact, why do you care so much about who's the 'fairest of them all?' And your query is flawed. The 'fairest of them all' could mean the fairest of all plants. What if I were to answer, 'That leaf over there is the fairest of them all?' What then?"  
  
"Magic mirror on the wall," Queen Minerva growled between gritted teeth, "Who is the fairest woman of them all?"  
  
"Woman, eh?" Perita grinned. "Well, considering that you're an old crone--"  
  
"An old crone!!" Queen Minerva shrieked. "I am NOT an old crone!!"  
  
"Nearing sixty isn't old?" Perita mocked. "Why can't you just accept that you are no longer beautiful and leave it at that?"  
  
"Fiend!" Queen Minerva shrieked. "You devil! You demon! You wicked spinster!"  
  
"Now, is that the proper way to treat a magic mirror?" Perita asked, her brow furrowing. "The answer to your question is still the same as last time."  
  
A strangled noise came from the queen's throat as she glared at her reflection. "Why? Tell me mirror, what is the secret to beauty?"  
  
"Why do you care?" Perita asked irritably. "It's not as if it will ever serve any purpose, anyway. It's not as if you could actually DO anything with--"  
  
Perita froze as the smile spread on Queen Minerva's aging face. "Ah, but my ignorant mirror, there is. My all-knowing Perita, do you recall a certain treasure known as the Evelwyn Gift?"  
  
"Mere legend," Perita snapped. "It never existed."  
  
"I believe you are lying to me, my mirror," Queen Minerva said smoothly. "The legend says that Druis Evelwyn of Mornth was given a gift from a suitor. It was a small chest that, her suitor declared, could only be opened by the 'fairest of them all.'"  
  
"Even if it did exist, the chest would have rotted away long ago," Perita declared. "And if not, you would never be able to find it."  
  
"I have long taken comfort in my beauty," Queen Minerva continued. "Since even my birth others would tell me that I was the most beautiful creature alive. And when I first heard the story of the Evelwyn Gift, I was destined to have it."  
  
"No one knows what's in the chest," Perita pointed out. "And if you wanted it so badly, why did you wait until now?"  
  
"Elementary, Perita-dear," Queen Minerva sighed.   
  
"'When the moon the covers sun,  
Then the day fated has come.  
The lock upon Evelwyn's Gift  
The Fairest of Them All shall lift.  
Inside that chest lies a great power  
Only to be used that same hour.'"  
  
"A child's rhyme," Perita insisted.  
  
"'When moon covers sun.' I have studied the sky for a long time now. The fated day will come this very winter." Queen Minerva sat heavily. "I wonder what the 'great power' is? No matter what, I must possess it."  
  
"You seek the power, but you shall never find it," Perita snapped. The queen of Fendel raised graying brows in amusement.  
  
"So you admit that you know what the power is?"  
  
"Of course not!" said her reflection irritably. "No one knows save Evelwyn herself, and she's long gone. I suppose you mean to discover the Gift's location from me?"  
  
"Naturally."  
  
"And that is why you sent your poor husband to Mornth-he all those years ago to find me? To get the Gift? It was not worth the trouble, for I will not tell you."  
  
"Yes, that was one of the reasons why I sent my husband to Mornth-he to find you," Queen Minerva said. "Do you recall the first question I asked you when I had you hung to my wall?"  
  
"The same one you ask every day," Perita grumbled. "Well, at least you don't ask it out of vanity; that's a comfort. Though if I were you, I would've asked for the location of the Gift first, for that is far more important. It's sheer stupidity to wait over thirty years to ask a question that you should've asked from the start."  
  
"Yes, a flaw, I admit," said the queen. "Though if you recall, I was...preoccupied."  
  
"With trying to control your poor husband's mind," Perita said, shaking her head.  
  
"So...My magical mirror on the castle wall, where hidden is Evelwyn's Gift---if hidden at all?" 


	8. Part Seven

AN: This part of the story delves deep into the culture of Mornth and the People...yadda yadda. (in other words...bor-ing!) Sorry if you learn more than you'll ever want to know about the Mornth (or if you don't learn enough!) and the People. Just a warning for those of you who get bored with that type of stuff....come back when you're in a more awake and tolerant mood, but don't skip this chapter 'cause it has some pretty informative stuff.  
  
Child of Snow  
  
  
Part Seven  
  
Chapter Nineteen~  
  
"Stupid mirror," Queen Minerva fumed, draining another goblet of wine. "W-wouldn't answer me, stupid thing; the s-simple girrrl."  
  
She stood tipsidly and attempted to walk across the darkened chamber, only to sink to the floor in exhaustion. The queen of Fendel had spent the last few days poring over ancient book and scrolls for some sign, some HINT of where Evelwyn's Gift could be hidden. All she could find were histories of Evelwyn's life, and these were very short and vague, since she had simply disappeared one day. There was no description of Evelwyn's Gift, except that it was wrapped in golden leaves when Imyrs* Nmeh, the second Imyrs of Mornth, had presented it to her. No one had actually seen the object except the people in the room at the time it was opened.  
  
"'Course, would be easierrr if sh-she'd just tell me," Queen Minerva muttered. Perita had refused to answer her question and vanished, as she was now beginning to do more and more often.  
  
Queen Minerva turned the pages of a book to her right, then squinted to read the words through her blurring vision. She had never, in her memory, felt so angry with herself.  
  
Mama would be ashamed, she thought. Queen Minerva had never realized before how dependent she had become on the mirror, on Perita. It seemed that every time she had trouble, she'd go running to her magic mirror, seeking the magical solution to a problem.  
  
So she had grown accustomed to it, and she began to assume that the mirror would always be there to answer her questions. It never occured to her that the mirror was, well, alive.  
  
Now, when she finally knew, her time was running out. Queen Minerva had been six when the tale of Evelwyn's Gift had first been told to her, and she had been eight when the tale of Lady Lleilanellyn and her Mirror was first spun for her by a royal bard. Immediately she had seen, when none others had, that the key to Evelwyn's Gift was through the Lady's Mirror.  
  
It had not been for nothing that her dear mother, ever since her birth, had sacrificed so much for the sake of her beauty. Charms from local witches were bought with great gold. These guaranteed her long life and youth. Titles were given to traveling religious men, who blessed Minerva with health and beauty. Wizards were hired to give Minerva wisdom, grace, and elegance. Ever she had teared to Minerva and told her, "My daughter, you will be the fairest."  
  
Evelwyn's Gift was an obsession that she had pursued eagerly in her youth, passionately. Then, when at last she had obtained the Mirror of Lady Lleilanellyn, she had...relaxed. After all, the power of the Mirror was common knowledge, and she rested assured that when the time came to call for the location of Evelwyn's Gift, the Mirror would be there with a ready answer.  
  
So she waited, pursuing other childhood dreams, pushing aside the task of searching for Evelwyn's Gift for later. After all, the matter of Victor and his other wife, Elyce, was far more pressing. That was more urgent, something that needed to be handled with immediately.  
  
After that, there was Silvea. Queen Minerva redirected her energy to assuring that her daughter was named heiress and arranged a bethrothal with a noble of high standing. Once that was fixed, Icelynai had to be thwarted. She had to assure that her daughter, Victor's true child, was always placed above Icelynai, in all matters.  
  
Somewhere along the way, Evelwyn's Gift had been forgotten. Yet she had not failed yet. There was still time, though very little. Perhaps she was approaching this the wrong way.  
  
Though at the moment Queen Minerva couldn't think of such matters. After another drink of the strong wine, she fell into drunken stupor.  
  
  
  
MORNTH-HE, 148 YEARS EARLIER  
  
"For she who is lovelier than the stars and more graceful than the trees of the He, I give these gifts, the spoils of war," he announced proudly, and clapped.  
  
A string of people, wearing ragged clothing, dirty and travel-weary, dragged themselves into the hall. Most did not meet her eyes, by Evelwyn was chilled by those who did. Their eyes were haunted, dark, encircled by black rings. All were thin and near starving.  
  
"Slaves of our dreaded enemy, those who call themselves people of Fendel," he continued. Evelwyn glanced sharply to her father, standing proudly in his regal clothing. Surely he would not accept this?  
  
"Imyrs Nmeh, this is indeed impressive," Drui MeNatth said, his pleasure evident in his voice as the last of the people trudged into the hall. "My daughter thanks you for your gifts."  
  
"But Majesty," Nmeh protested, "I have more. Something that was found in the treasury of the Fendel noble Earl Guillame from the North."  
  
Some of the court gasped. Treasures from the North were hard to come by, and they were especially valuable in Mornth. Nmeh placed a box at Evelwyn's feet. It was thickly wrapped in golden leaves, leaves of the trees Notta-He*, the smallest woods in Mornth. It was the custom for people of Notta-He*, such as Nmeh, to give gifts wrapped this way.  
  
"How lovely," Evelwyn said dully. "And my birthday only a few weeks away."  
  
"Indeed. Would you like to wait until then to open it?"   
  
"Yes," Evelwyn said but knew that she would never open it, ever.  
  
"Earl Guillame tells me that it was won from the People by his ancestors. He claims that it once belonged to the Northern Queen herself, and for that information I allowed him to go free."  
  
"Really?" Evelwyn asked, interested despite herself. Perhaps she would open it after all, just to see what it was. To think that maybe what she held in her hands had once belonged to the Northern Queen...  
  
"So what do you think of this one?" her father asked her later, when they were alone in his study, sipping tea. Evelwyn sighed heavily.  
  
"What do you think of him?" she asked, though she knew the answer.  
  
"He is a valiant warrior, certainly not lacking courage. He leads his people into battle with strategic genius. Nmeh is handsome, as well. Daughter, he is the sort of husband most women want," he said gently.  
  
Evelwyn was silent as she sipped more of the tea. This was a well-known routine. They repeated this after every new suitor asked for her hand. Evelwyn waited. Her father knew her well enough, and she him. Though to others he was a very proud man, stern and strict as was expected of the Drui of Mornth. To her, though, he was considerate and kind and even soft, unlike his callous exterior and face. He was the perfect father and the perfect Drui at the same time. Such was his love for her that Evelwyn did not feel lacking anything, though she had no mother.  
  
"Yet he is not the sort that you want, do you?" he continued softly.  
  
"Father," Evelwyn sighed, "we disagree about many things, slavery one of them. He will not win me with that."  
  
"Is there another reason?"  
  
"Only his...his foolishness!" Evelwyn cried. "This folly of attacking Fendel...Father, he could very well cause a war! One that may mean the end of Mornth!"  
  
"Nonsense," MeNatth said with a frown. "Our forces are stronger than those of Fendel--"  
  
"And yet they have much more people! They have far more allies!"  
  
"And we have the People as our Allies," MeNatth said confidently. "Daughter, such things are not yet for you to worry about."  
  
"It has been long since we have dealt closely with the People," Evelwyn reminded him quietly. "We lost their favor when you forced the Faeries out of their homes in the Notta Meadows, remember? The closest ally we have to one of the People is Lei, and she is only part Wood-Faerie, and that blood is diluted by her Elf and Human blood."  
  
"Yet Lleilanellyn is friends with many of the People," MeNatth said with a frown.  
  
"Only because they were close friends with Lei's mother! Father, I will not marry him because it would mean that I support his actions. War with Fendel--invading, raiding--and enslaving their people when they have done nothing to us..."  
  
"Done nothing to us?" MeNatth was aghast. "Daughter, they have waged war on us since our two nations were first created!"  
  
"So in a time of peace we must wage war simply because of the mistakes of our ancestors?" Evelwyn flared. "Father, I won't marry him. Dangle him in front of Ariadne, if you must offer him with someone of royal blood."  
  
"What does your cousin have to do with any of this?"  
  
"Marrying Ariadne Patience Ahgigi would make him the envy of all his rivals, and Ariadne would marry him in a heartbeat. Her beauty would surely make up for the fact that she is not a Druis**, at least in his eyes."  
  
Her father was silent for a moment before he burst into delighted laughter. "Ah, my Evelwyn! You will be a fine Drui!"  
  
"I should hope so," Evelwyn said with a wry smile. "I learned from the best."  
  
  
Chapter Twenty~  
  
"How do you suppose I'm to work it?" Cel asked as she sat atop the rug. "Maybe if I just command it? Fly, carpet!"  
  
"Maybe, 'up, carpet'?" Leander suggested.  
  
"Or 'giddyap?'" Kistur offered.  
  
"I don't think just commanding it to move will work," Sen told her. "Supposing that flying carpets are, well, living--"  
  
"Livin'?" Adon burst, interrupting. "Sen, ye've cracked now! Carpets aren't ALIVE!"  
  
"I never said they were," Sen pointed out. "Just that if you THINK of them as that way...? Try persuading it to fly, or reasoning with it."  
  
"Why don't I try them all?" Cel said diplomatically. "Up, Carpet!" She waited a moment, and nothing happened. "Giddyap!" Again, nothing happened. "Wonderful, beautiful carpet, would you please take me someplace? Skilled, talented carpet, please raise into the air?"  
  
"Maybe you could try it in another language?" Sen said. "What others do you know?"  
  
"Not enough to say, 'fly,'" Cel said. "How do you say it in Minen?"  
  
"We don't," Adon answered with a snort. "Why have a word for somethin' ye never do?"  
  
"Good point." Cel frowned. "Are you sure this is a flying carpet?"  
  
A chorus of nods answered her question. Cel threw up her hands in exasperation and stepped off the carpet. "Well, if it is, I have no idea how to work it. I give up."  
  
She stomped away and then turned to glare at the rug. To her surprise, it was hovering a few feet above the ground, the middle of it sagging considerably.  
  
"The trick must be in gettin' off it," Gaelan murmured. "Well, lass, up!"  
  
Needing no further encouragement, Cel fell back onto the rug, sitting with her legs outstretched before her. The rug dropped a foot. Suddenly, Cel felt very unsure about the entire venture.  
  
"Well, don't just sit there, lass," Adon grumbled. "Order it to do somethin' interestin'!"  
  
"Higher," Cel commanded. "And go forward." The carpet either didn't hear or chose to ignore her, as it remained unmoving, hovering. She growled and threw her body weight forward. At last the carpet inched forward. Cel changed her position so that she was lying on her belly. The carpet lurched forward and upward so quickly that her stomach dropped a few feet.  
  
"Careful, lass!" Adon cried. Laughing, Cel leaned over the edge to wave. In response the carpet veered sharply to the left and dipped. Cel felt her lunch fighting upward.  
  
"This is ridiculous," Cel muttered. "I can't see anything, and if I try, this stupid carpet goes crazy."  
  
Gazing upward, Cel saw the fluffy white clouds, seemingly within reach. Straining an arm upward, she tried to grasp one but felt nothing. Withdrawing her hand, Cel felt that it was wet. Trying to touch the cloud again, Cel sat up. Instantly the carpet stopped moving, remaining shakily in the same place. Then, it dropped a few feet. Cursing (Mogyeun!), Cel returned to her original position.  
  
The troublesome rug coasted forward at a fast pace. Cel relaxed for a few moments, content to stare at the clouds closeby and a scattering of birds pass. Then, another thought suddenly struck her.  
  
How was she to find her way back??  
  
  
  
MORNTH-HE, 148 YEARS EARLIER  
  
"I wanted to open it with you here," Evelwyn told Lei and Amedon. They sat in Lei's tower, Nmeh's gift in the center of the table.  
  
"Why?" Lei asked curiously. Amedon snorted.  
  
"I say that Nmeh's lying to you. No WAY he could give you anything that once belonged to the Northern Queen! Her reign was...a thousand years ago, in the time of King Charming IV*** and Queen Briar-Rose! Everything that belonged to the Northern People was destroyed!" Amedon cried.  
  
"I know, but suppose...?" Biting her lip, Evelwyn tugged at a golden leaf. "What was the Northern Queen's name again?"  
  
"In their tongue? Lyc-something," Amedon said uncertainly. "Or maybe it was Shrièba? Why?"  
  
"I think it was Bea-something," Lei said with a frown. "Not that anyone really remembers what the Northern Queen called herself. Which Northern Queen are we talking about? There were seven, I think, before King Charming IV defeated them."  
  
"Good question." Evelwyn peeled the leaves back, unraveling them to reveal a shiny box. "A box??"  
  
"A very pretty box," Amedon corrected as they gazed on the box. He rapped the box. "This is good wood. Definitely made from the Northern Red-Firs."  
  
"So we know that it's from the North," Evelwyn concluded. She gazed at the glittering runes engraved and painted on the red wood of the box. "I wonder what these say? It's not any language I know, but then the only written language I can read is the Ancient Druimor**."  
  
"This is in Faerie-Writ," Lei said, fingering the swirls. "At least the letters are, but the language is probably Northern. This on the top," Lei pointed to the large letters on the top, "are in a language I don't know."  
  
"Look at these jewels," Amedon cried, fingering the tiny clusters of sapphires and diamonds that were embedded into the wood, forming images of snowflakes and wings and stars as well as the moon and sun.  
  
"It's locked!" said Evelwyn as she noticed the golden lock. "No wonder Nmeh gave it to me--he doesn't know how to open it!!"  
  
"I knew it was too good to be true," Amedon muttered.  
  
"I think I can figure out what these letters say if you leave it here with me," Lei offered. "I have so many books...and I could ask Gemadir Hèrawyn for help."  
  
"Please! Maybe the writings will tell how it's supposed to be opened!"  
  
"Maybe if we knew more about the Northern Queen...that might help?" Amedon added thoughtfully. "Maybe there's some story about a Northern Queen who had a box?" He laughed. "Though I doubt it."  
  
"If only I finished my mirror," Lei said mournfully. "Then we would have the answer in moments!"  
  
"You STILL haven't finished? You've been working on it for over a year now!"  
  
"I know," Lei said. "I've done everything I was supposed to, but it still won't work. I need a spirit."  
  
"A spirit!" Evelwyn exclaimed. "That method of creating magic mirrors is so old-fashioned! No one's used that since...since Lovely Queen Ra*** outlawed it."  
  
"But I've tried everything else!"  
  
"Then why doesn't it work?"  
  
"I don't know!!"  
  
"Why don't we start deciphering this box?" Amedon suggested. He stood and crossed the room, pulling several books from Lei's bookshelf and setting them on the table.  
  
"This one is about the history of the Northern People," he said, and set it before Evelwyn. "You can search that. This one is about the the cultures and languages of the Northern People." Amedon put it in Lei's hands. "You look through that. I will look through this book, a reference book for the Faerie-Writ."  
  
"We should switch," Lei said, taking the thick book from him and handing him the smaller, velvet-covered one. "You don't know anything about the Faerie-Writ."  
  
"What exactly am I supposed to be looking for?" Evelwyn demanded.  
  
"Anything that mentions a pretty box and a Northern Queen," Amedon answered. "Patience, dear Evel, is the key."  
  
"Why do we even bother?" Evelwyn muttered.  
  
"I don't know about you, but I'm curious," Lei said. "Just think--what if this really did belong to the Northern Queen? Maybe we're holding the crown jewels, or some map of the country, maybe even her diary!"  
  
"Or just a petty box of beautifying tools," Evelwyn grumbled. "Of course I'm curious, but the idea of spending hours of research doesn't appeal to me."  
  
"It won't take that long. I've already found something. This symbol right here means 'beautiful' or 'fair,'" Lei explained, pointing to a lock of loops.  
  
"You see!" Evelwyn crowed triumphantly. "It IS a petty box of beautifying tools! Why else would it say 'beautiful' on the side of it?"  
  
"They could be describing anything," Amedon protested. "So be quiet."  
  
Evelwyn made a face.  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty-One~  
  
Sen followed the carpet worriedly, running swiftly through the woods with his face upturned, watching the movement of the flying object. After a few moments of watching the unstable craft, they had all agreed that Sen should follow Cel, just in case something went wrong.  
  
That seemed more and more likely with every passing moment, Sen thought. The flying carpet was definitely not a reliable source of transportation. It was utterly unstable, jerking and dipping and turning randomly.  
  
Sen felt his stomach clutch in anxiety when the carpet suddenly tipped and then began to dive. Darting forward, he quickly began to calculate where the carpet would land. At the speed and angle it was dropping, Cel could be entangled in a cluster of trees nearby.  
  
The carpet, however, had other plans. It flattened into a perfectly vertical dive. Cel, eyes wide with terror, slipped off and began to fall alongside the carpet.  
  
Horrified, Sen ran toward the area where he hoped that Cel would land. The seconds seemed like agonizing hours as Cel fell faster and faster. The treacherous carpet peeled away and flew off to the right. Cel continued to fall, Sen adjusting his position every moment. At last, Cel dropped into Sen's awaiting arms, her momentum knocking them both to the ground.  
  
"The stupid carpet," Cel spat, glaring at where it had been seen last. "I think you're right, Sen. The thing IS alive, and it tried to kill me!"  
  
"Princess, if I had known--"  
  
"Don't worry Sen; it's not your fault," Cel reassured him. "I'm fine, and all in one piece, thanks to you."  
  
"I suppose you should talk to Bazek about a different birthday gift?" Sen said mildly. Cel laughed, running fingers through her wind-tossed hair.  
  
"Yes, I suppose so. Think he'll give me something?"  
  
"He should. You nearly lost your life!"  
  
"But it wasn't his fault." Cel sighed. "Maybe he'll give me less chores as a birthday gift? That'd be nice, I guess, though actually I don't really have that many chores."  
  
"Might I suggest something, princess?" Sen stood and brushed the snow off his clothes. "You're always complaining about how we don't let you wander far enough--"  
  
"That's perfect!" Cel cried, springing to her feet. "I'll ask him if he'll be less...less...what's the word? Well, if he'll let me go--"  
  
"To Salpas," Sen finished. "You see, because you cooked and cleaned instead of Leander, we've had an extra hand in our mining. So this year, we have twice as much to show for our hard work."  
  
"What's Salpas?"  
  
"A small village nearby," Sen explained. "We trade with them every year; usually half of our finds go to the people of Salpas in exchange for things that we need."  
  
"So THAT's where you get all that cloth! I knew none of you could spin! So what does this have to do with me?"  
  
"Usually, Gaelan and I go to Salpas every year, but since this year we have more to bring with us...it shouldn't be hard to twist Bazek's arm into letting you go. If you want to," Sen added.  
  
"Of course I want to go!"  
  
"Then ask him. Now, we'd best try to find our way back. Everyone's worried sick about you," said Sen. "Especially Adon."  
  
"He was right," Cel laughed. "I AM better off with my feet on the ground."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"I don't know how she did it," Zachiriah said gloomily.  
  
"Never underestimate my mother," Silvea said. "I learned that too late. The best we can do now is make sure your father lives a long and healthy life."  
  
"I still don't know how she managed to convince the council!" Zachiriah burst. "I know those nobles, Silvea! They're not easily swayed into doing anything!"  
  
"She probably slipped potions into their drinks," Silvea muttered. "Why else would they vote in favor of her? It would definitely be in Telren's best interests if Fendel and Telren joined immediately, rather than waiting until after the deaths of both my mother and father."  
  
"And still, those nobles are old-fashioned traditionalists! The treaty was signed before we were even wed! They would never vote against a binding document! It clearly stated that Fendel would become a provence of Telren precisely thirty days after the death of your father! Yet she managed to convince the council to make ammendments!"  
  
"What we need is a royal mage," Silvea said slowly. "To prevent her from doing anything of this sort ever again."  
  
"Where will we find a royal mage?" Zachiriah demanded. "I suppose we'll just pluck one out a local village?"  
  
"Make a royal announcement," Silvea said sensibly. "Offer a high pay. Make sure to mention that we will have them demonstrate their skill."  
  
"And how are we to prevent ourselves from being dazzled by hocus-pocus tricks?" Zachiriah muttered. Silvea laughed.  
  
"Oh, I'm not easily dazzled by hocus-pocus tricks." Silvea sobered. "My sister performed them all the time, though I have no idea where she learned them."  
  
"So we hire a royal mage. Then what?"  
  
"Then our royal mage will tell us whenever someone's using spells or potions to...to...hmmm, I see your point." Silvea bit her lip. "Our royal mage will tell us whenever someone's using spells or potions to evil ends."  
  
"'Evil ends'?"  
  
"Just whenever someone's using a spell or potion, or any other form of magic," Silvea said crossly. "My mother isn't the only threat, you know. There are so many sorcerers in Telren, and none of them take too kindly to royalty after what your father did to them. Think of Aramys, at least!"  
  
"Then so be it," Zachiriah said with a sigh.  
  
  
  
  
It was so simple a plan that Queen Minerva was shocked that she hadn't thought of it earlier. It would be so easy to simply kill Icelynai. Then, she would be the fairest in the land. Then she wouldn't have to worry about finding Evelwyn's Gift, either, for if it was prophecised, would not Evelwyn's Gift find its way to her?  
  
"Minerva, you sly fox," she crooned to herself as she thought of ways to murder Icelynai. Strangle her, or drown her, or poison her? Which would be more fulfilling, more rewarding?  
  
"She's been a thorn in my side for long enough," Queen Minerva muttered under her breath. Indeed, Icelynai had been an obstacle, a source of constant annoyance and trouble since she first entered her life.  
  
Or, Queen Minerva thought suddenly, better yet, she could take Icelynai's youth. Perhaps that would be best of all, to restore herself to her old loveliness and destroy Icelynai in one stroke. Brilliance.  
  
She almost asked her magic mirror for advice but stopped herself in time. Yes, she would do this by herself and gloat later.  
  
"Naturally the spell would be complicated," she mumbled. Yet her powers are grown steadily over the past few years. Surely she was strong enough now to do such a spell?  
  
  
  
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*Imyrs Nmeh is the second Imyrs of Mornth. Imyrs is a title, or a rank. The Imyrses of Mornth control the military forces in times of peace. Notta-he, Nmeh's home, is one of the many forests of Mornth (He, the 'e' pronounced like a grunt--'uh', means forest). A few generations ago, Notta-he was heavily populated by the People, mostly troublesome sprites and specters, until the people of Mornth--the Duriu--drove them out.   
  
**The Drui are the rulers of Mornth. The monarchies of Mornth ended with the death of King Charming the V, only to be started again after the death of Drui MeNatth. Druis are equivalent of princes and princesses. The Drui are actually not Duriu but descendants of Elves. (the Duriu are descendant from the People) Mornth nobility are usually neither like the Drui or the Duriu but purely Human (Lei is an exception). The Ancint Druimor is the alphabet used in all legal writings and anything concerning the Drui.  
  
***Lovely Queen Ra is the nickname for the queen of about nine hundred years ago (her real name is Rapunzel). Of peasant origin, she changed many of the more barbaric laws, including the banning necromacy and execution by dissection. After wedding Prince Willem, she gave away her Tower to Lei's family because of their aid when she was lost in the wilderness. King Charming the IV and Queen Briar-Rose (also known as the Sleeping Beauty) ruled during the time when Mornth stretched far to the north, into part of which is now the Slivitt and Kikasc Provences. The Northern Queen was pressing her realm downward, and there was a battle in which King Charming IV defeated the Northern People. Most of the Northern People were killed, and their belongings burned, but a small company of about two hundred managed to escape and fled into the heart of what it now Telren.  
  
****The Northern People is the Mornth term for the Snow Children, or snow sprites, or the Snow People. There were seven Northern Queens (known as the Kiasci-skkia) who conquered much of the world for the Northern People until their rule was stopped by King Charming the IV.  
  
A note: Obviously, in this story, Dwarves and Elves are not included in the term "People", which usually means all magical, humanoid beings, but in this case applies to mostly faeries, sprites, and specters. Therefore, Goblins, Trolls, etc. are not considered part of the term "People" either.  
  
AN: I'm SOO sorry about having to immerse you all in the culture of Mornth...but I just thought we needed a different culture, to give the story more flavor and make it more interesting (and now it's proving to be more trouble than it's worth!!) I promise that I won't make you learn all about the culture of Telren (though it IS tempting...)  
  
  
  
  
  
AN: Just a question...because this story is dragging on MUCH longer than I originally expected!...do you want me to just do a poisoned apple (i.e., Disney) or the whole works (poisoned comb, corset laces, and THEN the apple)? Or do a poisoned comb and a poisoned apple, skipping the laces? Or come up with my own way of killing her (hehe)?Personally, doing the whole works would take WAYYYY too long (right now, this story is lookin' like it'll need near 12 parts to finish!!!!!) 


	9. Author's note: Very important!

AN:  
  
Sorry peoples!! I love you all, you know I do, and I do my absolute very best to update as quickly as I can...  
  
but my mom is taking away my internet connections!!!!!!! I won't be able to go online for god-knows how long (I get internet via her laptop....which she's taking away!!), so I'll write as much as I can, and the next time I go to the public library (probably in a long time because my parents don't like to drive me there) I'll update everything I've written!!!!!!!!  
  
Until we get internet, I'm pretty much doomed. Or until my mother relents and brings her laptop back home. (blame my sister...she's taking it away cuz my lil sis blocked all her calls while online for hours and hours instead of doing chores)  
  
*sniffles*  
  
P.S. I haven't read any of your reviews yet, but I will when I can sneak onto the school computers w/o getting caught by the teachers... wish me luck! Gods, i hope I don't get suspended! 


	10. Part Eight

Part Eight  
  
First let me apologize: I did not forget you! SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY for the long update!! I tried, really really, to overcome my writer's block. Yeah, I had MAJOR writer's block!!!!! I rewrote this chapter 3 times! That's why it took me so long. I kept reading it and going: No, this isn't good. Then I'd delete it and start again!!  
  
*sigh* I'm only now realizing how inadequate my first few chapters were. I cannot wait until I complete this version of the story and then rewrite it, with a thoroughly sufficient beginning!!  
  
Chapter Twenty-two~  
  
MORNTH-HE, 148 YEARS EARLIER  
  
"It's a riddle," Lei explained impatiently. "The whole thing's some excerpt of a passage; it must be. I went to Gemadir Hèrawyn for more books about the histories of the Northern People."  
  
"While you were busy with fanciful balls and pompous royal duties," Amedon teased, "we slaved away over these books; boring, droning passages that we fell asleep over."  
  
"It's not my fault!" Evelwyn protested. "I'm the Druis--I have to make an appearance! It's the--"  
  
"We understand," Lei interuppted, giving Amedon a warning look. "What it says here, on the top of the box, is a passage from a poem, called by the Northern People the 'Celska Kiasci Icèlæni Bïané,' or, Song of the White-Snow'd Queen. It's a very popular poem, an important part of their culture, it seems."  
  
"Written by a bard during her reign," Amedon said, holding the book open. "It's a ballad, actually. It mostly tells about her great beauty and power. The usually court flattery."  
  
"Only perhaps not," Lei said. "They have paintings of her, and I must say, she is rather lovely. Then again, painters tend to improve the appearance of nobility when they paint portraits, but that is besides the point. What the history of the Northern People, or at least these books and records, claim is that she had powers the likes of which had never been seen before since The Great Mage himself."  
  
Lei opened the large, leather-bound book to a series of colorful sketches. One image was of a woman, her smooth skin a pale blue and graceful, arching wings of a darker blue. She was long-limbed and -fingered and wore a white gown, simple and regal. From admist her white hair shone a bright blue gem inlaid in silver, her crown. The queen's face was young and sad.  
  
Amedon turned the page to reveal a painting. The same sad-eyed woman was now hovering in flight above a row of ice-carved statues, their gaping expressions so terrible and lifelike that they seemed like real people, frozen in time...  
  
"This is what happened in the Battle for Skilscekan," Amedon explained. "From the records, it seemed that she incased her enemy army in ice. An entire army of six hundred soldiers, frozen!"  
  
"So what does this have to do with my box?" Evelwyn demanded irritably. "Did it really belong to her?"  
  
"Well, we're not really sure." Lei closed the book. "This Kiasci was a hard queen, merciless to her enemies, ruthless when doling out punishment to those who disobeyed her. She had a sad childhood, though, which might explain that. But, more to the point, around the box is just incantations and spells, simple ones and complex ones. The lid, right here, just says 'Icèlæni Bïané' in the Common Tongue, but these swirls around it is the passage from the poem, in Northern."  
  
"'When moon covered sun,'" Amedon read,   
"'Her power waned, power grew.   
Of weaving spells and potions,   
Our Queen, white as snow, was skilled.'   
  
Then it skips to the middle of the ballad:   
  
'With her mighty power,   
She defeated our foes.   
With strength, her magic so great,  
Our White-Snow'd Queen!'   
  
Eh, then down to the last part of the ballad:   
  
'Sealed away her Gifts,   
Her magical Blessings.   
Imprisoned in wood, her essence,   
Our Queen!   
Her fair beauty diminished, locked away.   
The Fairest of them All she was,   
Until day became night.   
Never again shall she be free,   
Until unleashed by maiden fairest,  
Then again will she walk, Fairest of Them All,   
When Night and Day join at last.'"  
  
"It rhymes in the Northern Tongue," Lei apologized, "and it's a beautiful ballad, actually, though sad. Anyway, this is what we make of it--for some reason, she tired of being a queen, or maybe just tired of life, so she put away her powers into chests of wood. In forsaking her Faerie powers, she became mortal and died."  
  
"So, what you're saying is that this box contains her power?" Evelwyn demanded incredulously.  
  
"Well, that's our guess...and it can only be opened when 'moon covers sun' and by a really beautiful maiden, though I don't know if they mean physically beautiful or spiritually beaufiul," Lei finished. "I suppose these spells on the side are to protect the chest, or something of the sort."  
  
"What do you think, Evel?" Amedon asked excitedly.  
  
"Let's open it!" Evelwyn said enthusiastically. "Lei, you're always stargazing. When will this 'moon covers sun' thing happen?"  
  
"I have no idea," Lei admitted. "I'll do more research."  
  
Evelwyn groaned.  
SOUTHERN SLIVITT PROVENCE  
  
A swirl of white and blue pressed downward, sweeping across the plains and leaving behind snow and ice five feet deep. The roaring of wind and wings moved over the mountains, leaving the bare trees laden with gifts of white and crystal.  
  
Faster and faster they moved south, the Children of the Snow. Their bodies were already weary, their frozen, brittle wings thinning from the constant beating of the air. From the front, their prince urged them onward, motivating them.  
  
'Only a little farther!' he cried. 'Only a little while until we claim the South again as our own! My people, have courage! Strength!"  
  
'They need rest!' Ciak gasped. 'They cannot go much further!'  
  
'Ai, we only need go a little further! Only a little further until we cross the borders of the Slivitt Provence!' declared his prince.  
  
And they continued south with a flurry of beating wings, as one body. They watched the land slope down, down, ever downward as they peeled further away from the mountains. The trees of the forests changed. They grew denser here; tighter and tighter they pulled together until the forest was a dark blanket beneath them that became a white blanket once they passed.  
  
At last the trees began to thin again and the lands rose into slopes. Together, they dropped from the sky and plummetted into the shadows of the forest. Should any but the Faerie folk pass them, they would not be able to see the beings against the piles of freshly fallen snow.  
  
The prince clutched his sides and felt his battered wings quivering as the magic in his faerie blood worked swiftly to repair the damage done during the flight. Soon he straightened again and stood tall and proud as he swept an expert eye over his people.  
  
Already they had begun their work. Here the snow was several feet deep already; they could not stay long else they would freeze the ground and kill the life in it. Adults rested against huge heaps of hardened snow while tired children were already curled in sleep.  
  
"Kinsaik! Slaenkii!" cried one female, Lachii. "Celska! Ai, Ichaaniskk! Celska, icelainii! Kkaich celska!"  
  
He watched as she gestured furiously to her weary companions nearby. They were in no mood to whisper, much less sing. With an amused smile, he watched as she continued to urge people to maintain one of their people's oldest traditions: the Celska Kailech Slaenkii, the night of singing that followed a long flight. The prince agreed with them; he didn't feel like singing, either.  
  
"Ai, Kiasc celska," suggested some one. Surprised, the prince turned to find his mother, feeble in her old age, sitting atop a mound of ice and smiling with a tired content she had not shown in years. To her left stood Ciak, on her right was Nekkail; they had carried her weakinging body during the entire trip.  
  
'Mother,' he said softly, and bowed respectfully.  
  
'I remember well,' she said, 'the days when I was young enough to fly south, the days when it was safe enough for us to fly south.'  
  
'Yes,' he murmured.  
  
'And the only good thing about those long, tiring flights was the singing afterward,' she said, giving him a stern look. Her skin and hair were now the purest white, the sacred color that came only with wisdom and age. Being so old, her ice-wings were thin as gossamer and completely useless for flying. Her eyes remained ever the same, however, pale blue of sky and still sharp.  
  
'During the Celska Kailech Slaenkii, we can find heart again, and comfort. You young ones brush it aside, but you have never witnessed the power of it,' she told him. 'Lachii, what shall we sing?'  
  
'What of... what of Celska Kaisec Skilscekan?' Lachii asked cautiously. The old queen frowned.  
  
'No, that is not proper. We do not sing of dishonor or battle in the Celska kailech Slaenkii. We sing of great deeds and great people who deserve to be remembered, if they reached good ends or not.'  
  
'How will Celski Kkaich Icelainii do?' Lachii suggested. Again the queen shook her head.  
  
'Let us sing something sad. I feel too weary as of now to be merry. Let us sing of Kiasc Icèlæni Bïané.' She turned to her son. 'Let our leader lead us in the first song of the Celska Kailech Slaenkii.'  
  
'Celska Kiasc Icèlæni Bïané?' he said doubtfully. 'I'm not sure I remember all of it, but I will try nonetheless. I have not sung anything in a long time,' he added, 'so do forgive my bad voice.'  
  
'The Faerie People can sing nothing wrong, my son' she said, her humor evident. 'It is one of our Blessings.'  
  
'Yes, mother.' He swallowed nervously.   
  
"K-iich cesik iichi," he began, his voice forming the words of his people like a sharp and biting cold wind, yet strangely soft like flakes of snow at the same time.   
  
'When moon covered sun, she was born, in unending night, cold evermore. Winter child, daughter of Cold, a queen emerged. White Snow of Snow Children, pride of the People, she was. Beautiful, Fairest of Them All, she grew to be. Lovely child, darling Daughter of Snow. Pure of blood, pure of heart, pure of soul, Snow White!'  
  
'So long ago, raised by Lai-Kiaiin, her mother's sister, jealous, envious. Hated White Snow, the mother's sister, who could not see it. Hated her, hurt her, our poor Snow White! Lost, lost she was in Kiaiin's spells.'  
  
'Yet: Strong and wise, kind became she. The Lai she watched, from her she learned. O, clever White Snow! When moon covered sun, her power waned, power grew. Of weaving spells and potions, our Queen, white as snow, was skilled. The Lai she fought; victorious she was! So came our White Snow'd queen, O' Snow White!'  
  
'Happy times, we rejoiced, celebrated! Here was a queen, a Child of Snow like never before! We loved her, worshipped her, White Snow. Ai, the great Queen, ruling wise, reigning just...'  
  
His voice was with the strength of youth. Others had joined in now, singing along to the well-known ballad. Their voices rose into the sky. The old queen had spoke true, for in this song they found again strength and felt as if they had rested well for days. She added her own voice, filled with power, to theirs. Even the young ones, who did not know the words, offered wordless cries to mingle with the sad melody.  
  
From afar, their voices sounded like a giant storm, the wrath of the gods unleashed on earth. They sang long into the night. When at last the song was finished, they rose again, and flew in the embrace of the Moon.  
Chapter Twenty-three~  
  
Cel could hardly believe her good luck. Here she was, sitting in the back of a jewel-filled cart beside Sen as Gaelan spoke comforting words to Vortnethismi to hurry them along to Salpas. The day before, after an hour of arguing, Bazek had finally let her go, as compensation for the flying-carpet-incident.  
  
"Old Man Kookos--"  
  
"Old Man KOOKOS??"  
  
Sen smiled. "He's been called that for ages. He's the fisherman. No one else can catch Royal Salmon like Old Man Kookos. We go to him first and buy three barrel-fulls. Next is the Crazy Cove for cloth. The innkeeper's wife makes the best. We'll need to buy extra this year, for you."  
  
"That's not necessary," Cel said quickly. Sen glanced down at her patched trousers.  
  
"You can hardly continue wearing my clothes," he pointed out politely. "Then we need to buy new shoes. Hamel makes good boots, sturdy ones, but Jongo makes the comfortable shoes."  
  
"Which one do we buy from?"  
  
"Both. Yumon makes paper; we'll need leafs for Bazek. His twin Yukinn creates nice, leather journal-books. Those are for Gaelan--he's our bookkeeper when he has time."  
  
"How long will we be staying in Salpas? Is it nice there?"  
  
"We stay a week, usually. Sometimes two. It's a nice sort of village, I suppose, to you. Anyway, after Yumon and Yukinn, we see Khalei for soaps."  
  
"But not to you?"  
  
"I beg your parden?" Sen blinked.  
  
"You said that 'it's a nice sort of village, I suppose, to you.'"  
  
"It's a very Human village, Cel. Stone homes,"--Sen looked uncomfortable for a moment--"dirt roads, livestock everywhere, open fields, children running around, overgrown gardens and long grasses... Now, after Khalei, we visit Sibet for a new set of brooms, and then--"  
  
"What's wrong with that?" Cel asked in surprise. "It sounds like a lovely place to live. Very homey."  
  
"I knew you'd think so," Sen said with a sigh.  
  
"What sort of home do you prefer?" she asked curiously. Sen frowned for a moment and glanced to Gaelan, who was suddenly fascinated with the trees flanking the road to Salpas.  
  
"Caves, of course," Sen said quickly, "glistening with minerals, ready to be plucked. The home of any Minen."  
  
"Mm-hmm," Cel remarked skeptically, obviously unconvinced.  
  
"Anyway, bartering and arguing over prices takes time," Sen continued. "So we usually stay a week, at the abandoned cottage near the edge of the wood. Nobody minds that we take up residence for a week in that place--after the witch left it, travellers passing through Salpas have been free to shelter themselves there."  
  
"A witch used to live there??"  
  
"Village gossip," Gaelan muttered. "Superstitious folk, in Salpas. They're a bit shy o' the likes of us. Rather not have anythin' to do wit us, but they need the money and we need the trade. As for ye, lass, I suggest ye stay nice and safe in that cottage while we do our bit o' work."  
  
"But then I might as well not have come!" Cel cried.  
  
"I thought ye wanted to go places, and ye are."  
  
"That's not what I meant!" Cel protested.  
  
"Look, princess--we've taken ye in," Gaelan said patiently, "and so now we've got to care for ye. So I can't have ye gettin' hurt or anythin', hear? So yer to stay in the cottage while we trade or I'll turn this cart right 'round and take us back to Vortneth!"  
  
"Fine," Cel agreed sulkily. "So what am I supposed to do?"  
  
"The cottage could use repair," Sen suggested. Cel sighed.  
  
"This is just great. I finally get out to travel and end up doing MORE chores!!"  
  
Gaelan and Sen grinned.  
The cottage was as lovely as they promisd her. Though its rosy bricks were crumbling, and the black shingles on its roof were falling down, it still managed to be a charming building. If she squinted, Cel could see it as it probably used to appear.  
  
After Sen and Cel had jumped out the cart, Gaelan loosed the wagon from Vortnethismi, letting the horse loose into the overgrown garden behind the cottage. The wagon they pushed into the falling, leaning unstably aginst the side of the building.  
  
Eagerly, Cel ran inside, hoping the inside would be better than the cottage's exterior. When she looked around, she was barely able to swallow her disappointment. There was one large room only, the floor earthen. A couch against the east wall was riddled with holes. A large dining table with chairs was in the center of the room, covered in rotting leftovers and unwashed dishes. Cel thought she spied rats, but couldn't be sure.  
  
The kitchen was nestled against the wall to her left. The sink, too, was filled with dirty dishes. The pots had been left out, crusty food still in them. The entire place reeked.  
  
"Oh!" was all Cel could manage.  
  
"Seems like not one's pass'd by lately," Gaelan muttered.  
  
"It looks nice when it's been fixed up," Sen told her apolegitcally.  
  
"An' ye've got a whole week to do it," Gaelan remarked with a grin.  
  
Grumbling, she noticed the stairway in the corner was missing several steps, but nonetheless she raced up them to the attic. The attic, too, was an absolute mess. Beds, pallets, and cots of different sizes were scattered around the dusty room. A section of the roof had fallen in, the shingles and wood on the floor.  
  
Now she openly gaped in exasperation.  
  
"I was going to warn you not to come up," Sen said as he stepped up the stairs. "Oh--it looks as if the rain season was none to kind to our roof."  
  
"We can't stay here," Cel said suddenly.  
  
"Were do you propose we stay?"  
  
"I don't know, at an inn or something," Cel snapped, glaring at the pile of shingles. What was supposed to be a grand escape had turned into a horrible week of work and she was frustrated and angry.  
  
"We can't," Sen said.  
  
"What do you mean, we can't?" Cel demanded, running furiously down the steps.  
  
"Ai, the natives won't let us stay in the village," Sen explained, following her. "They're wary of us, remember?"  
  
"An' after all these decades o' doin' work wit 'em," Gaelan said, shaking his head. "Are ye hungry, lass?"  
  
"Not really," Cel said, eyeing the dining table. Gaelan chuckled.  
  
"Ah, ye needn't cook tonight. We'll go into town for lunch."  
  
"Really?" Cel brightened considerably.  
  
"Aye. They've an inn a bit ways off from the main parts o' town--what do they call it, Sen?"  
  
"The Crazy Cove, I think," Sen said, smiling. "Charming people there, and the food is quite filling, though a bit lacking."  
  
"Aye," sighed Gaelan. "Food just isn't right wit no Gamelin."  
  
"That's what you think," Cel teased. "Me, I like food without Gamelin just fine. I hope they have some nice ice-malts, and rabbit stew, and--"  
  
"Our rabbit stew is just fine!" Sen cried in alarm.  
  
"Well, I've never tried your rabbit stew," Cel admitted, "but I suppose that might be because you don't like trapping very much."  
  
"We had those hares once," Sen said, "but you didn't try them."  
  
"An' trappin's for them that can't hunt," Gaelan told her. "Now we'd best hurry on, as we're goin' to walk there."  
  
"Are we just going to leave Vortnethismi here with all the jewels ungaurded?"  
  
"Ai, Cel, Vortnethismi can defend our goods by himself, don't ye worry," Gaelan told her. "Kistur's seen t' that."  
  
"What're we going to pay for our meals with?" Cel cried.  
  
Sen pulled a pouchful of gem scrapings from his tunic. "These, of course."  
Chapter Twenty-four~  
  
Queen Minerva was ecstatic as she beheld her creation. Of course, to others it appeared nothing but a simple apple, but that was the ingeniousness of it.  
  
Long had she slaved away on the potions and at last, here it was. One half of the apple was a rose red, melting away to a pear-white color.  
  
This one mere fruit would grant her both beauty and the death of her hated stepdaughter in one brilliant stroke. After years of strengthening her powers, she was strong enough for this.  
  
Then Evelwyn's Gift would be hers.  
  
"I find it strange," Perita said in a bored tone, "that people search so hard to find what is most likely a myth or an old wives' tale."  
  
"It's true; I know it!" snapped Queen Minerva, momentarily pulled out of her good mood. "My mother searched her whole life for it."  
  
"And she was a fool," drawled Perita, "like so many others before her. Do you have any idea how many people have wasted their lives in the obsession that is finding Evelwyn's Gift?"  
  
"Yes, yes, I know," muttered Queen Minerva. "But I will be the one to find it."  
  
"Foolish, everyone," Perita smiled, shaking her head. "Even if they do find Evelwyn's Gift, they don't know what they'll find. They don't know what it is."  
  
"It is power like no other," Queen Minerva said angrily.  
  
"What if it is the power to turn into a chair?" Perita retorted. "I'd certainly call THAT a 'power like no other.'"  
  
"In it lies a great power," answered Queen Minerva through gritted teeth.  
  
"Well, 'great' can be defined in many ways," replied Perita. "Personally, I don't think it's worth it. All the Great Mages of our world have been obsessed with finding it once they heard about it, and look where it led them. Merwyn the Sighted grew mad, Grinning Helda was lost in the He, L--"  
  
"I KNOW!" Queen Minerva snapped. "But none of them were the Fairest, where they?"  
Ranita whistled cheerfully as she scrubbed down the tables. Working at the Crazy Cove was hard, especially compared to the lighter work in the Elven Circle, but it was some how more fulfilling at a day's end than an evening of food-gathering could ever be.  
  
The Crazy Cove was usually more prosperous, Willem told her, but to Ranita it seemed prosperous enough. Simply the village men arriving without fail every noon for lunch and every night to get drunk was enough money to keep the inn alive.   
  
The busy lunchtime was already over and Ranita could relax soon. She'd finished scrubbing the last table when two men entered. Ranita stifled a groan and instead adopted a bright smile.  
  
"Good day, sirs--"  
  
She stopped short when she saw them, as it was obvious that they weren't locals. The two gave her a shy smile and sat down at the table she had just cleaned.  
  
"We'd like rabbit stew," the black-haired one told her with a laugh. "Three bowls, please. No ale, just--"  
  
"Ice-malts," the older-seeming one finished, laughing as well.  
  
"But there are only two of you," Ranita said with a frown.  
  
"Cel will be here in a bit," the one with onyx eyes told her.  
  
Still frowning, she nodded and hurried to the kitchens in the back.  
  
"Rabbit stew, three bowls," she told Revinn.  
  
"More?" he demanded incredulously.  
  
"Some men just walked in here--they're not locals," she said.  
  
"Are they tall or short?" Revinn asked as he began to start the fire again. "The traders from Burtain come 'round at this time of the year, when they feel like it."  
  
"I dunno," Ranita said as she began to knead dough for rolls. "About normal height, I'd say, but they seems strange, that's what."  
  
"Whaddya mean, strange?" Revinn asked curiously.  
  
"Well..." Ranita hesitated. "It's more a feelin' than anything else," she admited at last.  
  
"What do they look like?"  
  
"Ah--one of them is black-haired and -eyed. The other one is shorter has a white beard though he is bald. I haven't seen the third, yet."  
  
Revinn nearly dropped his pot. "Are they dressed strangely?"  
  
"Aye," Ranita said, recalling their clothing. "Not like any fashion I've seen 'fore."  
  
"Those must be the Minen, then," Revinn grunted. "Thought they wouldn't come this year. They're far too late."  
  
"Minen?"  
  
"Dwarves. Children of the Mines. Call 'em what you will, they bring nothin' good. One can feel it. We only deal with 'em 'cause we need the jewels."  
  
"Jewels?" Ranita asked politely.  
  
"Remember what Willem told ya? They trade us jewels for our goods. It's always those two that come. They've never brought a third 'fore. Wonder what this one looks like."  
  
"Well, the other one called him 'Cel.'"  
  
"Don't care much for those names," grunted Revinn.  
  
"Enough talk," Willem scolded, poking his head into the room. "We can't keep our customers waiting!"  
  
"Yessir," Ranita responded cheekily. Revinn and Ranita worked in efficient silence after that. In no time at all the leftover rabbit stew had been reheated, the rolls were golden-brown, and the ice-malts were ready. All done in typical Crazy Cove fashion.  
  
With now-experienced grace, Ranita balanced a hot bowl in each hand and pushed open the swinging door with her shoulder. The third person had arrived, though Ranita couldn't get a good look at him, as his back was to her. However, his hair, too, was ebony-black, though it was waist-length.  
  
"Here is your stew," Ranita said with her usual cheer, placing the bowls down before them. "I'll get yours, sir--"  
  
She froze upon seeing the third member of their party.  
  
"Ranita?" gasped Cel.  
  
"Snowy?"  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Grr.... things I plan to do in the revised vision:   
*Don't take away Cel's speech   
*Give more base info about Minen in the beginning   
*Develop Silvea's character more  
*Develop Laich's character more  
*While I'm at it... develop CEL'S character more!!!! Grr... she has no personality!!! God, this version is SO lacking!  
*Revise the whole Maximilian thing... that was kinda pointless... I had originally a quite different plot, but... :shrug:  
*Possibly bring Evelwyn into the story much earlier  
*Definitely bring up the subject of Evelwyn's Gift much earlier  
*Edit Perita's personality a bit, and make her appear much earlier in the story  
*Make Cel run away much later  
*Edit the whole Elven Circle bit (can you believe that the Elven Circle was inspired by The Lost World and Robin Hood? Yeah... what do THEY have to do with Elves???)   
*Revise circumstances surrounding Ranita's leaving the Elven Circle  
*More scenes regarding Silvea  
  
Object to any of my planned revisions??  
One more question... (for another story I'm working on...)  
  
Other than Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast, can you think of any other fairy tales that involve 3 sisters???? I'm desperate!!  
  
P.S. Why IS it that inns always have to have animals and alliterations in their names? i.e., The Prancing Pony, the Dancing Dove 


	11. Author's Apologies: Very importantplease...

To all of my dear readers:  
  
*sighs*   
  
(what is about to follow will be very long, and undoubtedly boring, but I beg you to read this!)  
  
I know, I KNOW I swore and promised I won't pull the plug on this story and continue writing it no matter what but... I'm sure you've grown as tired of waiting for chapters and as disinterested with this story as I have become frustrated with it. This story as grown so tangled to the point that I want only to scream every time I sit down to continue writing it. At this point, salvaging it and attempting to untangle it is impossible.   
  
Faults with a chapter usually don't appear until later in the story one wishes to achieve a certain affect and finds it impossible due to inadequacies of preceding chapters, lack of support and balance. This is exactly what has happened, only rather than the problem lying in only one chapter, the whole of what I have written this far is at fault.  
  
When I first began this story the storyline I had in mind was quite different from what it turned out to be. Evolutions, additions, and adapatations to that plotline occured of their own accord in a manner that I was wholly caught off guard and astonished even myself.   
  
How is this a bad thing? An example: when first conceived the idea for this story, Evelwyn and all concerning her (Evelwyn's Gift, Mornth, the Northern Queen, etc.) was not a part of it. Neither was Perita. All of these characters and events were added during a bout of wild inspiration and creativity. The problem? It didn't fit. It just doesn't fit, no matter how hard I try to manuver these wildly-growing storylines (as they seemed to GROW and GROW!), they just don't fit into the whole. Perhaps there could be some chance of them fitting into the overall story IF and ONLY IF things were added to the earlier chapters (before these ideas were conceived) to prepare for such events and their conclusions, such as foreshadowing, buildup of suspense, and exposition.  
  
However, what is most important is that in the midst of all these developments, the original spirit of the story was lost. The theme, the mood, the heart of it disappeared almost entirely as the writer became too preoccupied with trying to make deadlines. See, pleasing you by updating at regular intervals (though even this I could not do) became so important to me that I would write chapters without thinking them through as thoroughly as they deserved, forcing out purposeless scenes through gritted teeth simply for the sake of lengthening an already forced, uninspired chapter.  
  
It finally came to me that the only way, the ONLY way, to save this story (because, you see, I really do love this story!) is to stop and start again at the beginning, with a clear, unalterable vision in mind and no pressures to spawn hatefull mutations. I must unravel and reweave the tapestry, so to speak.  
  
In English: I am going to take down this story.   
  
I will spend quality time thinking about it, rethinking and carefully replanning the plotline (without the horrible mutations, accept those that are truly advantageous) and sequence of events, replotting all aspects of it with a surgeon's precision, and then wait for inspiration to retell the tale--leisurely, without stress or pressure, as oftentimes for me creativity cannot flourish in such conditions. I think that all of us are far better off this way--I don't have to suffer anymore in continuing to write a story that I know is doomed, the story itself will be the better for it, and you all deserve much better than half-hearted work.  
  
l will undoubtedly repost the story once it is complete, but I advise you not to hold your breath or even wait or look out for it, as it will most likely be a long time until then, and I would go insane with stress at the thought of you waiting anxiously for it (as I hold you in such high regard). Please forget it, but should you perhaps in the course of the next year(s) happen to spot it again, then I would hope you have the patience to read my new story (as it will be a new story, not merely a revised one). I beg of you not to have many expectations for this new story, as it will undoubtedly be quite different--and to many of you, disappointingly so--but you can expect it to make sense and that I will be somewhat satisfied with it.  
  
Should you have read this very long, formal, and boring apology and respond to it, please no tears or death threats or anything of that sort, but please kindly place suggestions on what to keep and not to keep, or what may improve the story, or how you think certain parts of the story should be. Feel free to note what pleased you immensely, what you hated and was exasperating, and everything inbetween. You may even e-mail me if you like. I promise I shall take all you should say into serious consideration.  
  
Lastly, let me just say here briefly how much all of your responses have meant to me and how I have appreciated your interest! Thank you for reading my story, thank you a thousand times! I shall miss you all so very much, and remember you!  
  
(Is it just me, or does all this sound too much like a break-up? Albeit a very formally worded one...)  
  
*sighs*  
  
I've put this off for far too long.  
  
I regret to say that this is the end. I bid you all a very fond farewell. Good-bye.  
  
--SoHo Chic...  
  
and all the characters 


End file.
